Swaying Surprises
by WhiteWinters
Summary: Simple turns startling turns suggestive as America and England go head to head in a not-so-innocent game of surprises.
1. Small Miracles

"What do you want, America?"

"Haha, wow England! How'd ya know it was me?"

"I repeat: what do you want, America?"

England's voice drawled slowly and meticulously though the telephone and America couldn't help but laugh obnoxiously at the way he said things funny. He could just picture England's scowl deepening and sure enough –

"What the bloody hell is so amusing?"

America grinned and his sky blue eyes twinkled mischievously behind his glasses. "Uhh, nothing! D'you wanna come over and play some video games with me? I'm sooooo bored!" America stopped talking and squeezed the phone and hoped – no, wait, he didn't hope – totally not –

"No, America. I'm busy."

"But Englaaaaaaand!"

"But nothing. And stop whining. I really haven't the foggiest why you are so disappointed."

America answered right away. "No, no – that's okay, really. I know you have a schedule. And I'm so not disappointed."

"Of course not." England paused in case the boy had it in mind to cut him off again. Miraculously, he remained silent. England cleared his throat. "Right. Well. Goodbye, America."

"Yeah, okay. Good luck and stuff." America was secretly glad that England wasn't around to witness his glum expression. The phone clicked with a sense of finality and America slammed the receiver down enthusiastically. Whatever! He'd just visit Canadia…or something. He had hardly taken two steps before the phone rang. He whipped around and snatched it up, hoping the cord was still attached.

"England?"

The man on the other end spluttered. "Idiot! Don't assume such things. What if it was someone else?"

America, for some reason, couldn't stop grinning. "But it _is _you."

England spluttered again and America had to physically cover his mouth to stop himself from guffawing, lest he anger the old man.

"That is absolute hogwash. You have no logic whatsoever." England trailed off as America exploded in laughter, unable to contain himself anymore. "'Hogwash,' England?" More laughter. "Dude, you are soooooooo weird."

England scoffed loudly enough to interrupt the continual snorting. "Firstly, don't call me that. Secondly, kindly shut it so I can speak." America obliged – with some difficulty – to the second command, but never would he to the first.

England waited, choosing to ignore the random chuckles and chortles and continued. "I just want to say that the reason I didn't accept your invitation is because I am not prepared to book a flight and sit on a plane for six hours just to play those horrendous video games." A pause. "And you surprised me."

America fiddled with the unbroken phone cord.

"But you knew that it was me."

A sigh. "Yes, I did. But I did not expect you to actually invite me somewhere, as ridiculous the invitation might be."

"Oh…" Oops. "I mean, well of course that'd surprise you – no one else does it, haha!"

A near growl sounded over the phone, but America cut it off. "But you actually called back! I guess you're nicer when you're surprised. Maybe I should do it more often!"

Another drawl. "I should hope not."

"Aw, come on! Come over!"

"No."

"Englaaaaand!"

"I assure you, _boy _that I am not worth whining over."

America frowned at that, but only for a second since England kept talking. "I don't see why I should come over there. Why not you come here for a change? If you're so desperate, that is."

England knew America would refuse before he even made the suggestion. "No way, dude! Your place is weird and rainy and full of invisible unicorns and shit. Besides – it's so messed-up seeing all the McDonalds there. So not you, man." England twitched on the other side of the Atlantic and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you are_ quite_ finished."

"Haha, you're so frumpy."

"Moron."

"Weird British guy."

"Half-wit."

"Stodgy old man."

"Ugh. Enough of this nonsense."

America threw his fist up in the air. "I win!"

"What? There was nothing _to _win, you fool!" England scoffed…again. "There is obviously no point in conversing with you any longer."

America blanched, but didn't really.

"Wait!"

"What?" England sounded genuinely annoyed now.

"Uhhh…" America let go of the phone cord and scratched at the back of his head intelligently.

"Merry almost Christmas."

"Oh…" A throat was cleared. "You as well, America."

"See ya soon!"

Click.

_Shit_, thought America. England actually _had _won the insulting game when he had called him a fool. _Daaaanm!_

Meanwhile, England grimaced as he put the phone down gently. He hadn't been fast enough to escape that last statement. He scratched at the fake white moustache adorning his upper lip before peeling it off entirely along with the matching beard. How people could stand to dress up as Santa Clause for hours on end was certainly beyond him. The heavy coat and hat were next off, followed by the large black belt and velvet trousers (over his own.) He hadn't bothered with the stuffing. _That _was not worth his energy.

_Bollocks._ America should not have been worth his energy either. But the boy always found some way to weasel his way into England's life without the slightest warning whatsoever.

England folded the costume with a bit more vigour than he usually would use with clothing. He supposed he would have to see the lad sooner than later. Knowing America, (how England wished he didn't know the child) he wouldn't give up until he had got what he wanted.

_Why does he always want to see __**me?**_

The thought popped up suddenly and England tried to banish it from his mind…without success as he forced the Santa Clause costume deep into the corner of his bedroom closet.

Well…it wasn't like America _always _wanted to see him, (God help him if that were the case) but when he did…he was certainly very adamant about it.

England sat down on his bed. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and it then flopped down to rest on top of the covers.

"Bloody hell."

Why did the boy have such an impact on him? England could go for days without even remembering those wiser-than-you-would-think blue eyes, that puppy dog face or that obnoxious mouth and then the insufferable sod would just up and give him a ring…for _video games _of all the insignificant, redundant things.

At this moment, a concerned pixie crept from around a pillow and flew daintily to rest on England's shoulder. He smiled at her, his expression thin and worn and he extended his pinkie finger to touch her tiny green hand in greeting. He stiffened slightly as she moved to whisper in her ear. Odd… In modern English, too. It was a rare event that the Fae chose to speak and even rarer for it not to be in old English. Her voice was surprisingly clear for such a small entity, like the bells of Saint Clements ringing in the morning sunrise.

"_Go. He is your friend, I know. Do not tarry; do not be slow for I cannot bear to see your spirits so low."_

And just like that she smiled, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and flitted away. England closed his eyes and sat. When the Fae were not playing tricks, it was wise to listen to their advice.

His large eyebrows twitched.

But it was America, after all. And he just didn't know what to call him these days. A friend, she had said. England re-opened his eyes and stood up, the bed creaking slightly.

"Stupid blighter."

He made his way downstairs, arms stiff at his sides – through the empty hallways and into the kitchen where he busied himself by moodily brewing a cup of tea. As the water boiled in his electric kettle, (thank God for small miracles) England looked out the window at the cloudless sky. Ha. It was not _always _raining here. Come to think of it, the sky did resemble the lad's eyes –

Thankfully, the whistling of the kettle snapped England out of his reverie and firmly back to reality.

He stirred the milk and lemon into his cup of Earl Grey and eyed the brandy 'hidden' on the corner of the counter. It would ruin the taste, but… "Just a tad," England muttered to himself and splashed 'a tad' into his cup. He placed it on a saucer and made his way to the couch in the next room, sitting heavily upon it.

He drank his (alcoholic) tea and tried to think of things that had nothing whatsoever to do with America. When this plan failed utterly, England closed his eyes and decided that – since his brain would not comply with reason – he would think about America as a young child. When he wasn't rebellious, obnoxious, rude, aggravating…

England must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, night had fallen and an annoying buzzing sound was rousing his from slumber. He vaguely noticed his cup and saucer sitting on the small glass table in front of the couch; probably a stray brownie looking out for him. The annoying buzzing sound, he realized, was coming from his cell phone vibrating against the glass. How lovely.

With a sigh and a sinking suspicion of who the caller was, England stood slowly, stretched, and crossed the room to pick up the phone. He opened it and had it halfway to his ear with a biting retort in mind when he realized that it was a text.

Oh.

That, at least, confirmed his suspicion. Who else but America would have the gall to text him?

_Right. Best get this over with. _

England squinted in the dark to read the small, glowing screen.

_**Hey Artie! sup? come over – im bored.**_

England took a minute to compose himself before replying.

**Don't call me that. And no. It's currently 10:00 at night.**

Buzz.

**no its not.**

Send.

***It's* YES, it is.**

Buzz.

**not here! come oooooon! and you type really slow :P**

Send.

**Too bad. Go away.**

At this, England turned off his cell phone and closed it with a snap, praying America wouldn't have the audacity to actually phone him on the home phone.

Thankfully, he did not.

And England spent the first few hours of the night not sleeping. He really shouldn't have had that kip on the couch. Or the alcohol.

I I I

Over the next few days, England received texts (because he _had _to turn his phone back on for work) from America; **(duuuuuude, i'm not gonna stop bugging u!**) phone calls from America; (Kiku comes all the way from Japan, England. I mean, come on!) and passed on messages through other Nations from America. (_T'Américque dit que tu dois – _stop speaking in that bloody language, frog!)

Until, one day, ten days from that first phone call, England received an e-mail from the stupid lad with only one word: "Surprise." England stared at it. "What the devil?" He stared at it some more, confusion being the predominant emotion in his mind and most certainly not surprise. "Tch." England frowned as he lowered his fingers to the keys to reply.

_America, _

_I cannot believe that I am replying to this, but what are you talking about?_

_England _

Hardly fifteen seconds had passed after he had hit the send button and he had a reply. The boy was probably waiting at the damned computer. With a sigh of resignation, England opened the e-mail. And nearly had a heart-attack. It read:

_Arthuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuur! The next meeting is in NEW YORK! Hahahahahahaha, now you HAVE to come see me. Surprised now?__Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuv from Alfred. 8D_

England stared slack-jawed at the screen as an e-mail notification from his boss floated up serenely to greet him, confirming the meeting to be in New York City, New York State, bloody fucking America.

England closed the e-mail and then his eyes, breathing heavily. When he opened them again, they shone with a playful malice. Okay. America wanted to make this a game. A game of surprises. Well, two could certainly play at that. Quite easily, in fact. England grinned, rose from the computer chair and went to plan his counter-attack.

_AN - So, yeeep. This is, obviously, a continuation from that skit with England dressed as Santa, yadda, yadda... But with my fangirl-gone-wild-ideas to form this plotless semi-plot. America had just looked so disappointed... D: But yeah. MyfirstHetaliaficpleasedon'tshootme._

_French = 'Your America says that you have to -'_

_And that's basically it. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya._


	2. Just Us

_Ding dong, _went the doorbell.

And as he stood on the doorstep, England knew that America would be home. There was no way that –

His train of thought was abruptly cut-off at the sound of footsteps galloping down the hall. England shuddered to think of the state of America's carpet. He forced a smile, but just as quickly thought better of it. That would be decidedly odd. The door flew open (not locked, England noted) and America's grinning, over-eager face appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, how can I –"

He stopped quite suddenly when he caught sight of England standing on the (American flag designed) welcome mat, his mouth shrinking to form a little round 'o.'

"Surprise," England said quietly.

With a small shake of his head, America grinned even wider and then laughed his typical booming laugh and, without warning, opened his arms and gathered England into a tight embrace. The duffel bag England was holding dropped from his hand as the air was knocked clean out of him from the sheer force of affection. Weakly, England raised one arm to pat America on the shoulder.

"Yes, yes… I suppose it's, well, not _good _to see you, America, but," he wheezed and trailed off.

"Haha, wow – you got me good, Arthur! Totally unexpected."

America gave one more squeeze and let go of England. The sudden re-introduction to oxygen to his lungs left him slightly light-headed, but of course, America gave him no time to recover. He simultaneously grabbed England's bag with one fist and his hand with the other, dragging him inside – to a great amount of disgruntled noises.

The taller Nation let go of England's hand to close the door and England was only just beginning to notice himself noticing the lack of America's hand – then it was held again and America lead the way through the entrance hall and up a flight of stairs and to the right and into a room on the left where he promptly tripped over a fold in the red and white striped rug, using England's travel bag - with his new suit folded within it (bloody fuck) – to break his fall, pulling England along with him. The resulting crash, England was sure, shook the entire house and the surrounding forest.

"Thank goodness you're overweight, or I do believe I would have suffered severe head trauma," England sniped after he had stopped seeing stars (how fitting.)

America pouted. "Hey, shut up! I know that's just frumpy old man language for: thank goodness the hero was here to save the day!"

England almost smiled, but caught himself at the last moment and refrained. He head butted America's (definitely overweight) stomach for good measure, though. He started to push himself up, but had hardly gotten to his knees before America made an inimitable noise and protested loudly.

"Just a sec! C'mere."

He then proceeded to knock England's arms from underneath him, catching him before he fell and lowered him securely to a point on his chest. (Surprise!) This resulted in England's ear digging uncomfortably into the zipper of America's damned bomber jacket.

"Jesus, America! Let go of me, you git!" Struggle as England did, America's iron grip did not loosen, despite his highly colourful protests…which the imbecile just laughed at. "Fuck – fine! At least let me get comfortable."

"Yay!" England wanted to punch him.

With an extra-loud groan, England rolled off of America's chest and onto the rug beside him. He contemplated escaping, but reasoned that course of action to be potentially harmful. If America wanted him here, then here he would have to remain.

Stupid boy.

England used America's outstretched arm as an extremely uncomfortable pillow and elbowed him in the ribs in a half-hearted attempt to stop his unrelenting laughter. This, as he expected, did not work. England ceased his movements, looking anywhere but at America – who was looking at him; he could feel it.

"What a nice stucco ceiling you have here," England seethed without any real contempt. Why he couldn't stay mad at the boy, he did not know.

"You love it."

"Not really, no."

Silence.

"Do you treat all of your friends like this?"

"Like how?"

England sighed exasperatedly. "With all this happiness and hugging and…and that lot," he finished lamely. This was one of the reasons England avoided visiting with America. _This_ would inevitably happen and England would leave with questionable bruises on his body.

America said nothing for a few seconds until: "Maaaaaaybe…"

"Oh, yes and that answers my question perfectly – thank you kindly for being so honest, America that means a lot to me." England's words positively dripped sarcasm.

"Okay, okay – fiiiiiine." America bent his arm at the elbow and ruffled England's hair. England, mortified, slapped his hand away, seriously considering hitting him. America 'hmmm'd' and 'haww'd' before answering quickly. "I _would, _but Japan won't let me, Acadia – I mean Canadia – I mean _Canada _is my home-dog bro-hound and that would be weird and France is gross and creepy!" America breathed in deeply after dispelling so much air so quickly.

"Ye Gods," England muttered.

He turned to face America who smiled at him – no teeth, thank goodness – this boy always smiled. England, on the other hand, frowned. "So…you do _not _usually treat your other friends like this." It was a statement this time. America's smile dimmed, but didn't disappear. This time, he answered normally. "I guess I don't."

"Hmmm. I see."

They lay there for a few moments, England with one knee bent and America with both legs straight, crossed at the ankles.

"Make me tea," England demanded, suddenly wanting out and away from all the strangeness.

"Awww, I don't wanna get up!"

"Tch – fine! I'll make it."

"But I don't want you to get up either – you're nice and warm!"

"I fail to see that as a good enough excuse. Now – you can either make me tea or unpack my bag, actually no, I don't trust you with my things seeing as you have already succeeded in squishing them. Go make me tea – you know what I drink and I know you have it."

America rolled his eyes. "Fiiiiiine. I'll make your stupid tea."

He pushed England into a sitting position and slid his slightly purple arm from underneath the older Nation's head, before bounding to his feet and offering England a hand which was grudgingly accepted. Their hands gripped a little longer perhaps then strictly necessary. Then America grinned, turned and jogged down the stairs, leaving England to wonder at what had just happened.

I I I

England walked slowly down the stairs after unpacking (his suit only slightly wrinkled.) Halfway down, he glanced up to find a picture of himself and America hanging on the wall to the left . It was quite a recent picture – somewhere in the 90's – England guessed. He remembered that America had chased down a random stranger (probably scaring her half to death) and asking her to take their picture. The scenery behind them was simple: just a small, snow-covered park in – Maryland, was it?

"That was January 4th, 1997."

England spun around to see America leaning casually on the railing at the foot of the stairs.

"January 4th is the furthest day away from my birthday. I took you out 'cause I know that day kinda makes you sad, so I wanted to celebrate when you were happy. Well…happier. I mean, I love my birthday – it's, like, the best day ever. But that day was pretty good too."

England listened with mild astonishment to America's words. "What were we celebrating then," he asked. America drummed his fingers on the rail. "I dunno… Just _us_, I guess."

England's heart jumped a little and he wondered why. For the first time in a longtime, he smiled. Like a spark, it travelled down the wooden stairs to America, whose face positively lit up with glee. He jerked his head down the hallway behind him.

"C'mon – your frumpy old man tea is ready."

"Oh, shut it," England cursed and followed America towards the kitchen.

He really needed to step up his stradegy, he realized suddenly. America was doing a good job of catching him off guard lately. Now how to fix that?

_AN - Haaaaa, so yeap. Thank you, already, for the supporrrrt! _


	3. Predictable?

England followed America into his spacious kitchen – tiled, white and messy.

Well…messy by England's perspective.

There were a few cups and bowls and small plates stacked in the sink whilst the dishwasher remained neglected. Various pieces of abandoned cutlery were scattered across the counter-top, accompanied be small crumbs in every shade of brown. It was enough to make England grimace and turn away, but he was sure that other (he refused to think of them as 'normal') people wouldn't bat an eyelash.

He watched as America brushed whatever the hell lived on his table off, and, to England's mild disgust, onto the floor – somehow stubbing his toe in the process. When the unnecessarily loud curses subsided, England sat down carefully in front of his steaming cup of tea, crossing one leg over the other and closed his eyes, not wishing to continue to witness the horrid state of America's kitchen. America on the other hand, threw himself down on the chair opposite and dragged it closer to the table with one foot (no doubt scraping up the floor in the process, England mused) and wrapped his overly large hands around his mug of (dare he even _think _it) instant coffee.

"_I dunno… Just us, I guess." _America's earlier statement appeared suddenly in England's mind and he gripped his cup all the tighter.

He opened his eyes to see the boy fidgeting. Really…if the silence bored him that much, he should really plan something to say in order to fill it. England chose to ignore him, as was what happened more often than not. The lad would speak. Hopefully before he tore a hole in his trousers.

"So," America began and his former caretaker nearly laughed at the predictability of it all. "Big meeting tomorrow."

England raised one eyebrow and stared critically at America. "That's really all you can think of to say," England drawled. "You and I both know that we are prepared enough not need to discuss it. I don't particularly care about the meeting – that said, I would be quite shocked if you cared about it enough to bring it up."

America whistled softly. "Geeze, England. I was just tryin' ta make conversation."

"And you failed, my lad."

England sipped his tea while America spluttered, trying to find something else to say. "Uh. 'Kaaaay. How to get that stick out of your ass?" England thought he did a perfectly splendid job of ignoring this as well. America gulped his coffee down and his eyes roamed the ceiling, his mind grasping at straws until –

"Oh, I know! Let's play those video games we never got around to playing!" America grinned at England – earnest, charming, smothering and slightly contagious –

No. No – it was just a smile.

England opened his mouth to decline – like always – then paused. He suddenly remembered how much America currently outweighed him in this little game of theirs. So he stopped, smirked and accepted. And for the second time that night America's mouth formed a perfect 'o.' And England silently revelled in his ability to make the boy this silent, this vulnerable, this submissive…

Good God – they were just video games.

England was spared a heavy mental self-berating by America's obnoxious voice. "Dude, that's so awesome! You, like, never _ever_ wanna do anything with me – especially video games. This is gonna be sweet!"

England frowned and tried to tell the lad that, no, they _did_ do things with each other, but America had already leapt up and was looking at England expectantly. The older Nation sighed and set his empty tea cup on the saucer, getting up to follow America to who-knew-where. The boy kept beaming like a concentrated sun, England observed.

America led the way down a set of stairs to the basement. He jumped down the last four steps and zoomed off to a set of shelves in the back corner. Crouching down, he located a massive bright green bucket overflowing with the infernal video games. He heaved it up off of the floor and set it down none too gently on a small table between the couch and the overly large television.

"Phew! Okay, Artie – which one?" He blinked up at England who cursed softly as he found himself staring.

"Don't call me that. And nothing with countless 'headshots' as you call them," England sighed.

America's mouth flopped around as if it couldn't decide whether or not it wanted to pout, fly open or speak. "Bwuh… But those games are so much fuuuuuun!" _This, _England doubted.

"Of course, my lad." America sometimes wondered if England was just sarcasm personified. "But if we played those games I would end up either hitting you or your precious console. Those games are so unrealistic it makes my blood boil." Apparently the concept of a smashed console snapped America out of the 'headshot game' idea. He pondered, tapping his chin. Then his eyes re-lit and he looked back at England.

"Then how 'bout Mario Kart? It's _supposed _to be unrealistic, plus it's just racing. Something even your old-man reflexes can handle."

"Yes, I _know_ what Mario Kart is. And I would shut it if I were you, you git. You're arse is going to receive a sever kicking when I win."

America barked out a laugh as if this was the most absurd thing he had ever heard while he dug around in his green crate (England had decided it was large enough to be referred to as crate.) Having located the game, he pushed, pulled, and twisted various knobs and buttons on numerous devices around the telly – what looked like enough electricity to power three houses for a day.

After finishing with this tedious task, he handed a controller to England and grinned up at him. "Now wouldn't _that_ be a surprise. Just try to pull that off, Mr. Frumpy."

England scowled at the name and tugged the controller out of America's hand. "Just you wait, boy."

I I I

"WHAT. THE. FUCK!" The controller very nearly went flying out the window after England's fourth consecutive win. England set his controller down on the couch as his game character accepted the first prize trophy.

"Well, America. Have you eaten your words yet? I do recall you being oh so confident in your video gaming abilities. But hark! 'Mr. Frumpy' has beaten you again." England leered triumphantly as America pounded his fists on the floor yet again.

"It was totally the controller. I'm not used to it," the boy said glumly. "Ah ah ah." England shook his head and waved a finger condescendingly. "I do recall switching controllers at least three times, dear boy. You had equal chances with both."

America turned to glare at him from his spot on the floor. "It's not faaaaaair! How the flying _fuck _could I lose to someone like you?"

"I beg your pardon!"

"You're pardoned, geeze."

"Oh, shut it. What do you mean 'someone like me'?"

America rolled his eyes and blew air through his pursed lips before answering. "You know! As in here you are with your fancy sweater vest and your perfect tie and your dress pants and your stupid, pretty socks –" America ticked a finger for each item "- and all this, this, England-ified…_stuff_ and you actually beat me at Mario Kart which is, like, my favourite game ever! What the heeeeell?" America whined, fell silent, and pouted.

England massaged his aching fingers and gave America a _look. _"You think my socks are pretty?"

America laughed and his eyes twinkled in the artificial light. "Weeeell, they're prettier than mine. All black and stripey. Plus mine've got holes in 'em." He wiggled his toes – toes which England could see quite clearly through said holes – to prove his point.

When England's expression remained more painful than revolted, America looked at him struggling in vain to regain some feeling in his fingers. He frowned fleetingly and crawled over to kneel in front of him. "Here – let me." Quick as Flash Gordon, America grabbed England's fingers and pressed the pads alarmingly hard.

"Ouch," England protested. "America, what –" He tried to pull his hands away. But America refused to let go. "Hang on, dude. I know some reflexology – perfect for joint strain. It hurts at first, but it feels really good afterwards." England frowned, but let America squeeze and pull at his palms and fingers. It was a strange sensation to say the least.

"Ah… I see." England cleared his throat. "Where did you learn this?"

"I had a fried who taught me. It's supposed to cure headaches and small illnesses and stuff, but I find it just feels good. It's also performed on the feet, but…uh… you don't play video games with your toes. That'd be really cool, though."

England 'mmm'd' and sighed as a particularly nasty ache disappeared under America's careful ministrations.

"What do you mean by 'had'?"

America pressed his lips together for a brief second. "She was kinda getting too close for comfort if you know what I mean.

England sighed again. Oh how he did.

"'S okay though. We had some good times together."

England smiled slightly and gave America's hand a small squeeze. "I'm sure you did, my lad."

America's hands glided over England's now, as opposed to administrating reflexology. Like a tender touch. Like he had temporarily forgotten the never-ending feud that existed between the two of them. England wanted to forget it. At that moment he really did. He just wanted to release the tension in his shoulders and trust America's judgment in this small matter. But his mind did not work that way. Not after two hundred years of semi-separation. He narrowed his eyes slightly and jerked his hands out of and away from America's. The boy looked down at them and England thought that they looked rather empty with nothing in them –

"Haha, wow! I guess _I'm _nicer when I'm surprised, too. I mean, there's no way in hell I'd do that normally, haha!"

America's statement hurt England more than it should have – it shouldn't have hurt at all. But England took some comfort in how forced the lad's smile looked. Wait, no – he shouldn't even care.

England cleared his throat and nodded once, speaking stiffly. "Right. Well. I'm going to bed. We _do _need to actually work tomorrow."

America squeezed his eyes shut. "Ewwwww, meetings! I hate 'em."

"Well, that's too bloody bad for you, now isn't it?"

"Heeey!" America looked at his watch. "Geeeeze. Meh. I'll come up with you, I guess."

America completed his electronic knobs and buttons ritual backwards, ending by placing the green game crate back on its shelf. He smiled up at England and pushed himself up. England turned towards the stairs. "Come on then."

"Yeah, okay."

Silence.

America hit the light, plunging them into near darkness. They made their way up slowly to the next landing.

"Hey, England?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm glad you agreed to play with me…"

"Despite you losing four times in a row?"

"Um…haha, yeah, I guess."

"…I cannot believe I'm admitting this, but I enjoyed it, as well. Kicking your arse, I mean. Not necessarily playing."

"Haha, that's cool."

They had reached the guest room (England had most certainly _not_ purposely looked at that picture.) "So…uh…goodnight," America chirped.

"Yes, yes – sleep well and all that."

They looked at each other. And England turned to walk quickly into the (not his) room, shutting the door behind him.


	4. Invitations

America gazed keenly at the door, long after England had closed it. His mind buzzed.

Wait. What? Whoa. 'Kay. Go away. 'Cause it was probably weird to hang around England's bedroom door after he had gone to sleep. Haha. This, America reasoned and pivoted, marching across the hall to his room to sleep and not think about how smooth England's hands were. 'Cause that would also be creepy.

Maybe he would re-read volume three of Captain America. That'd be fun.

After reaching his room and searching high and low, he finally located his starry P.J.'s under his bed and threw them on. He then took a running jump and belly-flopped into his cushy, queen-sized bed (which was weird 'cause he was totally not a queen) and buried his head in the multiple pillows, sighing contentedly.

Only then did the full weight of tonight actually hit him. Like a rusty old Dodge Caravan with no breaking fluid. England was here. In his house. In one of his beds. That wasn't supposed to happen. He didn't mind, of course. This was kick-ass! After so many blatant refusals, England was finally here…in his house…

"Maybe he wants company," America mumbled into his pillows. But it was kind of 11:00 and four in the morning in British time and company was probably the last thing England wanted. America rolled off of the bed anyway. Too bad what England thought.

_I want company and England's the only one here, so there._

So America exited his bedroom and walked purposely over to England's. He raised a hand to knock on the door…and then lowered it. And raised it. And lowered it. And raised –

"I know you're out there, moron. Come in if you must."

America couldn't help but grin because he knew England didn't mean it and that made it all the funnier.

"Kay!"

He opened the door to find England propped up against the pillows, his lower half under the covers (for a moment America thought he wasn't wearing pants until he remembered that that would be so totally not England.) He was reading a book that looked like it came from the sixteenth century. They made eye contact and America grinned again. His original grin had never really gone away, so it basically just got bigger.

"What do you want," England asked wearily.

"Nothing really…just to chill."

England snorted and America sighed. "Dude, I'm being serious! I haven't seen you in, like, forever. How can you expect me not to bug you?"

England carefully marked his page in the ratty old thing he called a book and placed it pointedly on the table as if demonstrating how much worse off his life would be now that America had entered it. America fidgeted and eventually pointed to the bed.

"Can I sit?"

"_May _you sit?"

"Yeah – that's what I said – get your ears checked, old man."

England really didn't have the heart to tell him to shut it. He rolled his eyes and nodded and America wasted no time in shuffling over to make himself comfortable on the right side of the bed. He pretended neither to notice, nor care when England shifted as far away from him as possible without falling off the bed.

"What," England grouched, "could you possibly want at 11:30 the night before a big meeting?"

America rolled his eyes. Really. So pessimistic. "Like I saaaaaaid: I just wanna chill. I haven't seen you in aaaages. And…yeah, pretty much." He smacked his lips together and England wrinkled his nose. "Right. Fine. We shall 'chill'."

"Yay!" America sneakily settled himself a little closer to England. He didn't really know why, but he just wanted to, so he did. He was a total ninja.

"So what've you been up to that's been keeping ya so busy, Artie?"

"Arthur." England frowned and kneaded his forehead with the knuckles on one hand. He spoke with the air of an Undertaker or something depressing like that, America thought.

"For one thing, Greece's dwindling economy certainly isn't helping Europe's financial status – mine included. Oh, and France has been calling me non-stop for advice on how to control his people." He inhaled deeply. "He's such a coward. I cannot tell him how to speak to _his_ _own _country when I'm positively swamped with _my own_ work as it is."

America smiled, wishing England would open his eyes to see it and punched him lightly on the upper arm. He even made sure that it was really, really, super lightly so England wouldn't get mad at him and gripe about his crazy-awesome strength. 'Cause that had happened before. "Hey. Relax, man. You've got one more night of work free-ness." England twitched. "Yes – in which I was hoping to use to sleep." America ploughed on. "So don't talk about the economy or France or shit like that here."

The younger Nation studied England – his fingers trailing loosely through his messy blond hair and his eyes still closed. He was suddenly gripped by the weird urge to comfort the bugger.

"Hey," he said again. "I know exactly what you mean. My people are still struggling. And me along with 'em."

At this, England's shoulders relaxed slightly and America, satisfied with this result, closed his eyes along with England and leaned back on the pillows.

"I suppose you are…right," England muttered. "But you yourself tend to slack off when it comes to the actual paperwork."

America 'pffft'd' and a piece of hair dislodged itself from behind his ear to float over his forehead. "Haha, yeah – I guess you're right, too."

"Of course I am."

"And stuck-up."

"I would think that that particular attribute would be more suited to your personality, brat."

"Shuddup."

America grinned and maybe because he was crazy or fucked-up or randomly spontaneous or perhaps some strange combination of all three, he decided to lean to the side and rest his head on the top of England's shoulder. _Don't be frumpy, don't be prudish, and don't be frumpy, frumpy, frumpy… _He mentally cursed when England immediately stiffened, but America stubbornly refused to lift his head. After a long, uncomfortable silence, England spoke. "Alfred…why do you…" For the first time in a long time, England found that he could not finish his sentence.

America seemed to get it, though. He shifted upon England's shoulder (Alfred, huh?) and answered. "Trust me, man – I've been asking myself the same friggin' question and… I don't really know. There's just something about you…that, uh. I guess I just like knowing you're around. I worry about you sometimes."

England tensed again (shit, what did I do now?) and replied tersely, "that's not what you implied in the basement."

Oh.

"Yeah, well. I lied."

…Oh.

"Did you now?" England's voice was soft as he continued. "How is it that you can be so honest, Alfred?"

America yawned. "I dunno… I just find it's easier y'know?" You won't always know whether or not the result'll be good or bad, but at least you know you told the truth. I just work with it."

England 'hmmm'd.' That reminds me of a pixie back home. She said you would be happy if I saw you."

"…Smart chick."

"She is _not _a 'chick'," England protested mildly and brushed back a piece of America's hair that had been tickling his neck for a while previous. America made a contented noise in the back of his throat and for some stupid reason, England took that as an invitation to continue. America's last conscious memory was that of England's fingers running idly through his hair. That and – _Score! I get to sleep in the same bed with England!_

England sighed and opened his eyes. "When were you planning on leaving, my lad?" He looked blearily to his left and groaned when his vision was greeted by an open-mouthed, almost drooling Alfred Jones.

Just lovely.

This sudden flash of exasperation reminded England of his current situation: lying in the same bed with this idiot. He was just about to complete a full body turn and give the boy a hearty smack to the noggin, but stopped as an unexpected wave of compassion swept over him. Stupid boy. Stupid young man. It was precisely because America was no longer a child anymore that this could not be allowed to happen. But England wasn't cruel enough to wake him, despite past instances. He would just have to move.

He gently eased America's head off of his shoulder and lowered him down until he was lying securely on his back. He then turned to leave. And turned back. "Tch." It was the lad's own damn fault that he had chosen to sit on top of the covers. England ended up folding _his_ side of the covers over America's sleeping form and removed Texas from his nose, folding the glasses and placing them on the bedside table.

Finally, he left because if he stayed any longer, he had a suspicion that he wouldn't be able to leave. And he had to. He didn't think he could handle sleeping in the same bed as America – not now. He turned off the light and shut the door quietly behind him, trying in vain to find a reason behind these foolish actions.

The now exhausted Nation wandered the hallway, searching for any other guest rooms – any at all, so he wouldn't have to sleep in America's bed. Of course, he found none. And of course, this meant the only other bed he knew the location of was America's. It wasn't that he disliked the boy. But things were suddenly becoming very confusing – too baffling for England's refined, defined tastes.

He closed the door behind him and moved towards the bed, kicking aside comic books and action figures as he went. This _young man_ couldn't possibly be anymore juvenile. After a bit of fiddling, England managed to set America's alarm clock – in the shape of the Empire State Building – for 9:00 the following morning (thank the Fae that the meeting wasn't until 11:00.)

England snorted. The _following_ morning? Ha. Not anymore.

He slid under the overly plush blankets (everything in this house was 'overly' now, wasn't it?) and reached across the bed to turn off the lamp. His head hit the pillow.

Oh.

The bed smelled _overly_ of America.

England sighed and wondered how, exactly, he knew what America smelled like. He breathed deeply and told himself firmly that this was because he was _tired_ and not because apparently America smelled nice. His head disappeared beneath the covers, only the top fringe of his bright blond hair showing. He swallowed and had to fight back the ridiculous urge to cry at the sheer stupidity of the situation. It was only a game of surprises. But now it had turned into something slightly scary.

England clutched the blankets, squeezed his eyes shut and fell into an uneasy slumber.

_AN - Derp. That is all. And Hetalia still belongs to Hidekazzzzz Himaruyaaaaa. _


	5. Plan in Advance

England regained consciousness by means of a persistent poking on the crown of his head.

"Englaaaaaaand – wakey wakey. I let you sleep an extra half an hour 'cause I thought you'd want it, or need it – whatever. And I was gonna make you tea, but I was too lazy so you're gonna hafta do it yourself. Oh – and why are you hugging my pillow?"

England grumbled and batted the boy's hand away, slinking deeper under the covers.

"I'll…I dunno…spit on your head if you don't get up." America's voice was more obnoxious than usual, England thought drowsily. It must have just covered two octaves and every note in between –

England sat bolt upright with a grunt, almost colliding with America who had leapt back at the last second. "What time is it?"

"Uh…9:33, why?"

"Because I do not wish to be late on your behalf, America."

England looked down at the pillow he was currently clutching to his chest and flung it aside as if it had burned him. "I…I really do not know how that got there." "'Kay, well, I don't really care, but could'ja leave so I can change?" England stared at him. Oh. Right. Clothes. For the meeting. "Yes, yes, of course." England mumbled to himself and all but leapt out of America's bed (in the most gentlemanly manner) and out the door without looking back.

"See you downstairs then," America called down after him. The slamming of the door was all the answer he received.

After a hasty shower and an even hastier dressing, England tried once more – unsuccessfully – to make his hair lie flat. He paused to look at himself in the small mirror hanging over the dresser. Bright green eyes stared back at him – surrounded by scruffy blond hair, a scowl and…well. Eyebrows. Let's not dwell on that. All in all, England thought – mundane and not very extraordinary. His looks, that is, not his 'political status.' He scoffed, turned away and walked stormily out of his room. No, no _the_ room - and down the stairs, eyes flicking to that picture before focusing on the steps once again. He checked his watch, and, since there was still time enough, went to make himself a cup of tea.

He was combing through the top cupboards, cursing at his inability to locate teabags among the mess of other items when America walked in. "Tea's in the drawer right below you," he said breezily."

England made an exasperated noise. "Why the blazes would you put tea _there_?"

"So you can reach it." America laughed and ducked as a teabag flew over his head.

"Fuck you." England didn't notice America wince behind him.

They fell into a strained silence. And the damned metal kettle took forever to heat. America checked his watch. "We'd better get going, dude. Traffic can get pretty unpredictable around here." England nodded and gingerly poured the hot water into the to-go mug, muttering something about electric kettles that America didn't really care about.

They shrugged on their heavy coats (it _was_ just before New Year's Day) and walked out the door, America locking it behind him. He walked halfway down the driveway to the car before pivoting to retrieve the keys he had left in the lock. England resisted the urge to laugh and drummed his fingers on the hood of the car, waiting impatiently for America to unlock it. He did and England climbed into the passenger seat of a sleek silver Lexus ES-330, balancing his mug in one hand and nearly spilling it when America jumped into the driver's seat and slammed the door.

England shot him a look. "Do try to be more careful."

"Yes, _Dad._ Geeze, England – it's my car – I can treat it however the hell I want to."

England chose not to reply and drank his tea while America reversed out of the driveway and drove out onto the road. The silence stretched on, the gentle hum of the engine not doing much to ease the tension. They had both put on their seatbelts a while ago and England rested his head on the strap; he looked out the window and sipped his tea occasionally.

The silence swelled…

"Hey, England…"

…And shattered.

England desperately wished he were somewhere else. "Yes?"

"Um. Are you alright?"

How England really wished he were somewhere else. "I'm perfectly fine," he replied shortly.

America blew air from between him lips and glanced at England before turning back to face the road. "Okaaaay…'cause I can kinda tell that you're not." England set his now empty to-go mug down on the mat at his feet and made a great show of adjusting his tie. "…That's good on you, boy."

_Take the bloody hint…_

"Uh. So – what's the matter?"

_It's you – it's always you and your face and your smile and your fleeting flashes of kindness – it's you, you stupid, charming, obnoxious, endearing, confusing –_

"Just…don't trouble yourself over me."

America stopped at a red light and raised an eyebrow at the Nation sitting next to him. "Dude, stop putting yourself down so much. It can't be good for you. Plus, how'm I supposed to help if I dunno what's wrong?" England shifted in his seat and looked out the window at the shops, not yet opened. "…There have just…been too many surprises as of late. They have succeeded in leaving me in a state of confusion. An emotion I don't particularly enjoy feeling."

America was silent as he pulled into the private parking lot, showing his I.D. to the man in the booth. He parked and turned off the engine with a neat flick of his wrist. "Listen…"

England cut him off. "Don't worry about me America. I'm…used to it. And we _are_ here now. It's time to work." And with that, England opened his door, collected his paperwork, and set off towards the building. He didn't look back to check if America was following. Soon enough, though, America's car beeped and the Nation himself jogged up behind England to walk beside him.

Thankfully, the boy remained silent.

I I I

The first section of the meeting passed without many major insults, thrown objects (or people) or shouting. Which was a nice change. When asked (mocked) about the Incident with the Decorative Sword, England opted to either ignore the insolent Nation or punch them in the face. Apparently…that Nation…_Canada_ had already arrived because America had bulldozed over to him and slapped him heartily on the back, jabbering away. England silently applauded the poor lad. It must have taken years of self-training not to make a painful exclamation at such an impact.

Eventually, after everyone had filed in (China arrived late), the meeting started.

England hated to admit it, but he zoned out for many of the presentations, only becoming alert and professional for his part of the meeting. He hoped no one noticed.

Finally, unfortunately, it was time for lunch. Unfortunately, because America was disentangling himself from France (not literally _disentangling, _but why France?) and looking around. He caught sight of England and jogged over, smiling as he went. England nodded curtly in his direction and his smile faltered, fading fast by the time he reached the moody Nation.

"Um…hey. So – I get it. You don't wanna talk. That's cool. And, uh. I guess what I did last night was a little…well. I thought it was nice, but I guess you didn't, so… I'll leave you alone now since that's totally the message you're sending me, 'kay?"

Without giving England a chance to answer, America turned and walked out the door. Flustered, England gaped after him and angrily grabbed his wallet off of the table (why _was _he so angry, anyway?) and stomped resignedly out the door.

"Am – Alfred! Alfred, wait!" But the lad was not to be found. "Damn it all."

After one last look around, England drew his coat tightly around his shoulders, turned to the left and walked down the sidewalk to an English pub he knew existed somewhere down the street. He had walked for about five minutes when he spotted the Union Jack sticking out on a pole over the walk. Thirty seconds later he was pushing open the door of Manchester Arms and out of the cold. He sat at a table and ordered ale and a Yorkshire pudding from a plump waitress and promptly put his head in his hands.

Was America being serious or did he actually think…no – England himself didn't even know what to think anymore. All he knew was that, no matter how much he denied it, his relationship with America was changing and changing rapidly.

"Sir?"

England looked up quickly to see the waitress carrying his order. He smiled charmingly and said his thanks, accepting the plate and glass mug. She hovered, smiling bemusedly. "Everthin' okay, sir?" She spoke with a Bronx accent – a little part of America. England exhaled and looked up at her, his eyes softly uncertain. "I'm not too sure at the moment, luv. But I hope it will be." She seemed genuinely concerned. "Aww, that sucks… Good luck, I guess. And enjoy yer food."

"Thank you kindly."

She nodded and resumed her post behind the bar, chatting aimlessly with the other customers.

England moodily tucked into his pudding. Alone. Which certainly did not bother him whatsoever. He had finished about half of his meal (rather half-heartedly) when the door to the pub opened. England heard a distinctly human-sounding squeak and looked up just in time to see the back of Nantucket and America's shoes disappear back out the door. Hardly a second had passed and England was on his feet and out the door after him.

"Alfred! Bloody hell – I know you're out here!"

And soon enough - in the next alleyway he passed - England saw America plastered against the wall, grinning sheepishly. He also wore no coat. England saw this and practically dragged him by his freezing cold wrist back into the pub where he sat him down at the table, unbuttoning his own coat and throwing it over the boy's shivering shoulders. He pushed his plate out of the way and sat down across from him – the _look_ was given.

"What the hell was that?" England tried to glower, but was hopelessly distracted by the way America clutched at the coat. "And why the hell don't you have your coat with you?"

America grinned weakly, his lips a faint shade of blue. "W-well – I kinda left in a hurry, so I forgot it…"

England frowned. "Which brings me back to my first question: What was that?" He gestured to the doorway.

"Oh, uh – yeah. Haha – I don't usually say shit like…like I did in the meeting place, so I just wanted to make sure you'ere okay…" America trailed off and one hand appeared from the depths of England's jacket to scratch his nose. "But I didn't really, um, plan in advance if I were to see you. So, haha, I did and I kinda freaked 'cause I really don't know what you're thinking most of the time, Arthur."

He sniffed and England assumed it was because of the cold. He huffed. "…Indeed. At least you're warm now." He even allowed a small half-smile.

"Wow, I guess you can actually be compassionate sometimes."

England immediately went on the defensive – one, because compassionate was exactly what he wanted to avoid seeming and two, America had said it with such a discarding nature –

"Oh, yes – quite a _surprise_ would you not agree," England muttered scathingly, his smile long gone. He all but ripped out the American money to pay for his (half-eaten) food (stupid bills all looking the same.)

"No, wait – wait! I didn't mean it like that," America protested and laid a hand on England's wrist.

England stopped and stared coldly into America's eyes. "You see – that's the thing – I can never tell what you are thinking either, _Alfred_ and it positively drives me up the wall. Keep the coat, I have my vest on." And with that, England wrenched his arm out of America's grasp and stalked out, raising a hand of farewell to the waitress, her confused expression a contrast to his of hopelessness.

"Damn it…"

America hit the back of his head against the booth, wishing he could be in a western movie with all those cowboys and trains because everything always worked out in western movies. He eyed England's some-sort-of-pudding (he could never remember the different puddings) and considered eating it. No – it was English – gross. America pouted for a couple of seconds before properly pulling on England's coat. It smelled like him. Well, duh, it _was_ his.

"Sir?" It was the waitress. "Um. Yer friend. 'E seemed kinda sad. I sure hope you kin finda way to cheer 'im up!" America smiled despite the situation. "I'll definitely try my best." He gave her a two fingered salute and walked out the door. England wasn't there.

_You didn't honestly expect him to be here, did you? _Was what America told himself. But in reality…he had kinda then his stomach growled. Right. Lunch. England? But no, the Brit was totally not wanting to see him. Not after what he did… What exactly did he do, again? America sighed. Maybe he could think better with a full stomach. Yeah, that aaaaalways helped. Food was da bomb. So he walked in the direction of the nearest McDonald's, kicking at patches of snow and thinking about England the entire way.

_AN - Yeah...I hate American money, too, Arthur. :)_

One day I'm going to write about the Incident with the Decorative Sword...

And - I know that there would probably be the 'normal' English flag (with the red cross [Saint George's Cross, as I've been recently told]) on English pubs, but the Union Jack is so much more badass. Speaking of pubs. The one in this story is based off... okay - is an exact replica of an English pub in my town. Sans the Union Jack.

...These boys are so annoying. :D

Het = Hidekaz Himaruya.


	6. Mass Input

"_Igirisu-san! Sumimasen - Igirisu-san!"_

Oh. Right. His name in Japanese.

England turned to see the small, white-clad form of Japan walking quickly towards him. Japan, England thought, was one of the rare few who could elicit a real smile from the frown. He was a good friend.

"_Konnichi wa__, Nihon_." England dipped his head in greeting and Japan did the same – only looking much more real and, well, Japanese. "I have not spoken to you in a while, _Igirisu-san_. How have you been keeping lately?" Japan looked at him with the eyes of countless emperors, gruesome battles, weathering experience and England found that he could not lie or avoid the question. Not to this wise Nation. He smiled wanly at his friend and continued to walk down the sidewalk.

"I'm a little bit emotional night now, actually, and it's quite annoying to tell the truth."

"_Ah, Igirisu-san, wakarimasu," _Japan spoke softly. I noticed you seemed a rittle off at the meeting. _Amerika-san desu ne?"_

_Damn. Japan noticed._

England shoved his hands in his pants' pockets and Japan dropped an empty plastic bowl of Instant Ramen into a trash can.

"…Is it that obvious?"

"Well, I do not sink I would say that, _Igirisu-san_. I merery read the atmosphere between the two of you and determined as such." England heard this and stared at the concrete beneath his feet then suddenly back up at Japan as if realizing something.

"Hey, Japan. You and America are good friends – even after the…war. How is that possible?"

Japan's answer came quickly, as if he was absolutely confident in his reasoning. "Wiz _Amerika-san,_ I keep an open mind. As does he. I was open to forgiveness – as was he and our friendship resulted. We are open to each other's differences. We arso find out what we both enjoy and act on this knowredge."

Here Japan paused and England could feel his eyes boring into the side of his head. "If I may state my honest opinion, (at this England nodded - it wasn't everyday Japan did this) I berieve if you were to open your mind, _Igirisu-san_, you would be happier." England must have been silent a while because Japan spoke again. "I am deepry sorry if my answer has affected you in any way negativery."

England shook his head. "No, not at all – I thank you. But… I wish America would do so for me."

Japan's eyes shone. "Oh, but he tries. He gets ahead of himself, though and cannot help it; you must accept this if you wish to get croser to him."

England blanched. "Who said I wanted to get close to him?"

Japan bowed his head. "Ah…certainry not me, Igirisu-san. I am simpry trying to help."

They had reached the office building and England held the door open for his friend _(arigatou gozaimasu_.) He touched Japan on the shoulder. "Listen…Japan. I really do appreciate the help and kind words and I apologize for any rudeness on my part. Now if you will excuse me." Japan bowed once more and watched England's poker straight back recede down the hallway. He hoped the former empire would be alright.

_I tried my best, Amerika-san…_

Meanwhile, England headed into the restroom to splash some water on his face. Hopefully it would clear his thoughts somewhat – thoughts which were currently swirling, twirling, unfurling to cover every part of his conscious mind in a dense fog. He had just approached the sink when a figure suddenly popped up behind him – blond hair, stubble, and grinning (leering) teeth reflected in the mirror. England clapped a hand to his mouth and stifled a shout. Trust France to be lurking unseen in a bathroom.

"Ah, _Angleterre_…" France clearly took advantage of the hand covering England's mouth to speak. "I could not help but notice how incredibly inconsiderate you were this morning – ignoring everyone's presentations, tsk, tsk…"

England's eyes flashed and he took his hand away from his lips, turning to glare properly at France (the damn frog had noticed, too.)

"You are a complete and utter imbecile –"

"But I am an imbecile who speaks the truth," France purred and winked at the fuming England. "Tell me, _Angleterre_, what happened with _Amerique_ 'last night'?"

"What! Absolutely nothing you foul, little eavesdropper – don't make such dirty assumptions!"

"Ah, but that is what I do best – oh hon hon hon hon."

France cut the laughter, narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, studying England. _"Mais, __sérieusement_ – you are all, ah, riled-up, _Angleterre_ and the only people capable of such a feat are either your insane brothers or _Amerique_. Well, and me, but that's beside the point. So…since your brothers aren't here…" By this time, France was smirking maliciously and twirling a genuine rose (that had come out of nowhere) between his slender fingers.

"_Je suis ton ami, non, Angleterre_? " You can tell me anything…"

If France's concern had been genuine and his question not completely honeyed in mockery and barely disguised wickedness, England may have gotten to the bottom of his jumbled feelings by simply describing what had happened over the past couple of days. But this was not the case. England slammed a hand down onto the white porcelain counter and snarled at his adversary.

"You bleeding wanker! I've had it up to _here_ with America and then _you_ come along – wishing to rub it in. Well, no thank you! You, _Francis, _are not helping. Now move before I stick that sodding flower up your arse."

France was shocked (mainly because the usual brawl complete with flying fists and the dense dust cloud was avoided) enough to let England elbow past him without another word in exchange. England threw open the door, stampeding right passed a startled Canada – who was listening concernedly to the heated exchange out in the hallway. Canada stood there for a few seconds worrying his bottom lip and hugging Kumajiro close (Ow!) before turning slowly to enter the bathroom. The first thing he saw was France leaning, back against the sink and snorting gleefully.

The bilingual Nation frowned and cleared his throat, deciding to speak in English and hoping France would notice him. "Hey, Francis? D'you know what was wrong with Arthur," Canada inquired – his voice soft with concern. It took France a while, but his laughter eventually subsided enough for him to answer. "Ah, _Mathieu_," he purred, delicately wiping a tear from one eye. "It appears that our dear _Angleterre_ is having a little…revelation, so to speak."

"Over Alfred?" And Canada's look of incredulity was enough to send France into another fresh fit of laughter.

I I I

America watched England as he spoke during the second half of the meeting. He watched his movements; the way his hands gestured or pointed or clasped together. America gazed – with his head resting on one hand, propped up by an elbow on the surface of the table.

_His eyes are really green, _America thought lazily. _Kinda like shamrocks except that those are Irish and not British. Oh well._

America watched, gazed, stared. His eyes roamed England's upper body – from his sweater vest to his perfectly tied tie to his not-so-perfect hair and his green, green eyes.

_He's totally trying not to look at me. _America realized this and slumped even further forward in his chair. _What the heeeeell?_

The following twenty minutes consisted of America staring comically at England, eyes wide and concentrating. Because maybe England would look at him is he focused hard enough. Superheroes did it all the time and since _he_ was the biggest hero_ ever_ then it was totally possible to mentally force England's eyes onto his own. Totally…_come on…look at meeee…_

England finished his speech, took a seat and closed his eyes – waiting for the next Nation (Japan) to speak.

_Well damn._

America, of course, refused to give up ('cause heroes never quit!) and alternated between watching Japan and ogling at England who watched Japan with rapt attention - much to America's dismay. He didn't even notice the time passing until everyone rose to leave at the end of (an un-opinionated) Japan's talk. With a startled grunt, America rushed to gather his things – dropping half of them – and trotted over England who was pushing in his chair and looking worn- out.

America found that the words were sticking in his throat, (what the hell, why?) so he decided to maintain his usual smile. Even though it was kinda strained. But England was being all strained, too, so he had an excuse. England gave a little disdainful sniff in America's direction; well, America assumed it was in his direction – sniffs didn't usually have runways…or something.

America shoved his hands into his pockets as he waited for England to gather his things. What were they even fighting about anyway? That thing he said at the pub? England had said that he could never tell what America was thinking. Which was a stupid thing to fight over, America ascertained with a small huff. England was just as unreadable, or whatever, as he claimed America to be.

So. England was definitely over reacting. _Yeah! 'Cause I totally can't tell what he's thinking either – so we're in this together. _

Wait. What exactly was it that they were in together?

America was startled out of his thoughts by a poke to the shoulder and a loud, "America?" He blinked and looked beside him to see England standing with his paperwork in one arm and the other held out in front of him.

"May I have my coat back?"

His coat…? Oh, right.

America laughed softly and laid his own things on the table in order to shrug out of England's coat. "Oops – I guess I wasn't thinking properly. Here ya go!" England took it and slung it over his shoulder with an air of indifference. "Well. You hardly ever do. Think properly, that is."

The younger Nation frowned and snatched his things up from the table and moving to the front door, holding it open for England and following after. "Okay, see – that's not fair. If I say something mean by accident I tell you that I don't mean it. But you don't even care – you just walk away anyway without even listening to me. And then you go and say something like that and, and… what the hell is with you, England?"

England didn't speak right away and America unlocked the door. The smaller Nation automatically opened the driver's seat before remembering the difference in sides. He actually slammed the door before walking quickly around and getting in on the other side.

"_Sois gentil, Amerique_!" The voice came from a spying France across the parking lot and America responded by flipping him off.

He sat down heavily in the seat, sighed and put the key in the ignition. Instead of starting the engine, he turned to face England, a determined expression on his face. "Arthur. What's wrong? I know I can be a bit, um… well I dunno exactly, but I know you don't like it. Really, though. This can't be _all _me. I already said that I didn't mean it, so…"

When England didn't respond, America tried again. "Dude, talk to meeeee. I _can _help y'now. I just realized we're in this together…but I still haven't figured out what _this _is, haha. Surprises aren't really my forte. Well, kinda, but not like…um. Maybe you should just talk 'cause I'm kinda failing over here."

He reached a hand out a placed it hesitantly on England's shoulder – not forcing him to turn, but the implication was still there. And, instead of shirking away, England glanced at the hand and touched it with one of his own. He ran his thumb over America's knuckles, tracing, studying, questioning.

_And he's still not looking at me._ America thought this, but didn't voice it. England's hand on his own was kinda nice, actually. Like last night with the video games except the opposite. Cool. And then England spoke, breaking the silence effectively enough that America jumped, causing him to grip all the tighter to England's shoulder.

"I don't understand you, America." England pried the gripping fingers off of his shoulder until they were once again relaxed.

"Uhhh… 'kay. Did you want to?"

It wasn't until after the words spilled from America's mouth that he realized how awkward this sounded. What…what the heck was that even supposed to mean: did he want to? Haha, wow – good one, America. This word choice must have served to confuse England as well, because he looked up at America then – for the first time since lunch - with a slightly bemused expression adoring his face.

"…Pardon me?"

America felt his face heat up – oh god, shit, shit, shit – and he suddenly became very aware of his hand resting on England's upper arm (how did it get there?)

"Um. I mean. Uh, I don't get you either, y'know? A-and then we fight for stupid reasons that I don't or can't even comprehend and then you're angry or sad or whatever – and I think it's my fault, but it's kinda just you over-reacting, too…so, um. I, I don't even know why I said that, but let's…not fight?"

Any other day, England would have snapped at such a comment – over-reacting? – but the honesty of America's words seemed to shine out through his eyes, which were really, really, stupidly blue, England thought as he continued to puzzle over America's words of 'did you want to.' Were they really a mistake? Or was he merely over-analyzing?

America's breath hitched slightly – why did it do that? – and tilted his head to the side. What was with that weird look England was giving him? Was he still mad? His arm was really warm under that sweater vest, America thought randomly.

Something seemed to change suddenly in England's demeanor and he leaned back slightly and turned his head to face the front windshield. He muttered something under his breath that America automatically assumed that he was supposed to hear. "What was that?" America leaned forward, ears straining, closing the distance that England had retracted. England snorted and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds before looking back at America, seemingly undaunted by his closeness. "…I'm. Well. I suppose that I am sorry for, erm, 'over-reacting' as you so put it. I hope I haven't, ah, worried you or anything closely related."

For the third time in two days, America's jaw went slack…then morphed into a little round circle of surprise. Then he grinned and leaned back in his chair, his hands moving to clasp England's.

"Haha, awesome! I'm sorry too, for whatever I did, but yeah – totally. So, is everything good now? 'Cause you kinda did make me worried and not many people can do that or make me apologize for anything; so, I guess you should feel good about that or something, haha!"

England rolled his eyes and exhaled in what must have been, like, wonderment or something, America reasoned 'cause he did that to people.

"One day I'm going to find a way to shut you up quickly and effectively, you realize," England sighed languidly and lifted America's hands off of his and onto the steering wheel. "Now take us back."

"Roger that, Arthur!"

And America turned the key. He tried to focus on the road, he really did. But he couldn't help noticing how his heart beat at a billion beats per minute – totally possible in this kind of situation (wait, what situation?) – the small, strange smile on England's lips…

_Ohmigod, I'm so happy for some unknown reason, but I love it!_

_AN - ...This chapter was so much fun to write. Ohmigod - as Alfred would say. Haha, England. Soon you'll figure out a way to shut America up. 8P_

_Anyway - translations. Sumimasen = excuse me. Konnich wa, Nihon = Hello, Japan. Wakarimasu = I understand. America-san desu ne? = Is it America? Arigatou gozaimasu = thank you very much. Mais serieusement = but seriously. Je suis ton ami, non, Angleterre = I'm your friend, no, England? Finally, sois gentil, Amerique = be nice, America!_

_Thank you so much for the support! _


	7. Snowstorm

"Fuck." England must have cursed more loudly than he had thought because soon after this vulgar exclamation, America's footsteps echoed and were closely followed by the Nation himself.

"Wh's wrgg?"

England 'tch'd' and ran a hand through his hair, turning to face the boy – who currently had half of an éclair dangling from his mouth.

"I am going to assume that you meant: 'what's wrong'." He tapped his fingers on the desk in front of him, the computer monitor illuminating his face.

America bit off the chunk of éclair, the remains falling to his cupped hands and chewed at what must have been a record setting pace. _When it comes to food… trust this glutton. _He walked over to stand beside England and peered at the screen. And reeled back in confusion, looking down at the Nation who refused to look back at him.

"What the heck, man? Why are you booking plane tickets when you could just stay here for a while?"

England rolled his eyes. "Well, if you had _looked _at the screen properly, you would see that the Heathrow and London airports have closed down due to _snow_ of all the bloody things. It makes me wonder if the rest of the airports are safe enough to use."

America, for some reason, found this funny. "Haha, duuuuude – I guess it doesn't always _rain _there…" He didn't need to continue and England scowled at him and his damned, unnecessary laughter.

"Shut it – it's certainly rare for it to snow in Britain, even rarer for that to be the cause of closure. Bollocks! The timing is absolutely awful, as well."

America's laughter died at this and he frowned to himself. "Aww, why do you say that, Artie?" Here he paused and England swore he saw his cheeks turn slightly pink. "You've got me right? Stay here for as long as you want – oh! Perfect – it's New Year's in friggin' two days! You gotta celebrate with me."

England scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Goodness, America. Why on earth would you propose such a thing?"

America recoiled for the second time in confusion. "Uhh…'cause it's New Year's? And New Year's is awesome. If you go back I just _know _you're gonna be all alone, and it's too late to invite Kiku – so if you leave then _I'll _be all alone. And that would suck. Big time. So stay!"

England finally looked up to see something he had never seen before on America's face: hope. Well…he had certainly seen vain, disproportionate hope, but never such an earnest, kind expression. It almost didn't suit the boy.

_But it's directed at me… What's going on…?_

The thought was enough to send him over the edge of rational thought – away from solid ground and into the depths of the unknown, the swaying, and the…surprising. And with that, he closed the window on the computer and rose to his feet. He looked properly at America's face and made a decision. "Alright. I must be right mad, but…I'll stay for bloody New Year's."

"Yay! Thanks, Arthur! You won't regret it!"

And before he knew how to respond, America had gathered him into one of those crushing hugs – a repeat of yesterday afternoon – where his head swam and the colour rose in his cheeks. Although, he was now beginning to wonder if there was another reason for this – besides the lack of oxygen. As far as England knew, lack of air didn't cause one to blush. He cut off that particular thought as it only caused him more discomfort. And speaking of discomfort, the boy still hadn't let go.

England shifted in his hold. "America…"

The lad seemed to remember himself and let go of England, but kept his hands on the smaller Nation's shoulders.

"Um. Haha, Oops. I'm just glad you're staying, England."

"You said 'thanks'." England's voice was soft with a hint of a smile.

America gaped and then nodded, delayed. "Oh…well, yeah! I'm capable of saying 'thank you' once and a while!"

England smirked and flicked at Nantucket. "You could have fooled me, moron."

America squeezed his shoulders surprisingly lightly. "Yeah, well – like I said – I'm glad you're staying." A pause. "So, I'm gonna make dinner!" America, apparently, found the need to announce this to the entire room and England winced at the sudden increase of volume. Before he could respond, however, America was already out the door and running down the stairs.

England stood for a long while, arms dangling at his sides and his entire body tingling with the ghost of America's embrace. Were simple hugs _supposed _to elicit such a feeling in his chest? Did America really care so much as to _want _him here for New Year's?

_Sometimes he merery gets ahead of himself…_

England exhaled shakily and crossed his arms over his chest – as if he could contain his heart's furious pounding by that action alone. His thoughts ricocheted off the walls of his skull with each bewildering beat. Between his unraveling emotions and the snowstorm in Heathrow, (was that meant to be?) the way America had looked at him after the meeting, (did you want to?) the tantalizing scent of fish and chips wafting up from the kitchen…

Fish and chips?

England's frown immediately cleared to make way for a confused half-smile and he made his way quickly down the wooden steps to investigate this strange turn of events – there was never a time when any other smell other than burgers was present in America's house. And yet…

The almost salivating Nation rounded the corner at the same instant that America appeared in the doorway. The following collision hardly affected America, (I'm such a tank - don't even deny it) but it caused England to careen backwards. He would have gone headfirst into the wall behind him if it weren't for America's strong grip on his lower arm.

"Whoa, steady there! Haha, I was just about to call you down to eat, but I guess your British-y nose picked up the scent." He grinned – his trademark grin of indescribable uniqueness. "S'not like I'm _only_ gonna eat the fish 'n chips – I made a couple of burgers for myself, as well."

"Yes, because you're a right glutton." England's insult left his lips in a much quieter fashion than was his wont and he had to try remarkably hard to keep his facial expression neutral. America must have noticed the slight changes in England's demeanor because his grin slid from his face to make way for a facial feature combination of concerned and confused.

"Geeze, man… What's up now? It's only dinner…" He trailed off when England exhaled quickly – a huff, but more overwhelmed than exasperated.

"My dear lad. You don't understand what it's like to be alone, do you? To do paperwork in an office, to read silently in your spare time, to sleep in the same small bed, to eat at a table too large for one person. The only company I have is the faeries. When someone – someone as foolish and obnoxious and misunderstanding as you – when _you_ go out of your way to make me – cold, uncaring, wearisome – my favourite dinner with the intent to actually sit down and eat it with me…" Here England trailed off and laughed shakily. "It's 'kind of a big deal,' as you would say."

England finally fell silent and they stared at each other for more than a few seconds. Then, as usual, America broke the silence in the bluntest fashion. "So…is there a 'thank you – you're the awesomest guy ever' buried in there somewhere?"

England grimaced. "Only the 'thank you,' I'm afraid. You are extremely conceited, America – I'll give you that." And the boy's smile returned full-force, succeeding in brightening the room – although England would never admit it.

"Well – you're totally welcome, Arthur! You're my guest, so I wouldn't just starve you, haha. Speaking of food, let's eat it before it gets cold! I'm soooo hungry." And he let go of England's arm to go back into the kitchen and England found himself lingering on that touch and how he never wanted it to go away –

That food smelled wonderful. It really did. So England quelled his ridiculous feelings and followed America, grabbing a plate and the necessary cutlery before serving himself.

"Consider yourself lucky," America laughed, "that this is the only British food I allow in my house."

"Oh shut it. My food is perfectly edible."

"Yeah – and Sealand will rule the world someday."

They continued to bicker aimlessly and sat beside each other at the table – England with a stack of crispy fish and chips, America, likewise, but with a burger on top. The pair eventually stopped talking to eat. England thought that it was actually quite good – for an American cook, that is. America, of course, finished first – all but inhaling his food and using his greasy fingers to pick up any remaining crumbs on his plate. He stared at England while doing so…which was quite distracting, England noted as he quietly finished his meal.

"Hey, England?"

The addressed Nation set his fork down with a sigh and a clink. "Yes, lad?"

"Um…I don't think you're cold. Or wearisome."

England regarded his dinner plate with the utmost fascination.

"…You don't?"

America turned his chair and drew one knee to his chest, resting his hands on it and his chin on them, in turn. "I mean it, Arthur. But…you _try _to be for some reason – I really don't get it. Is it 'cause you don't want to let anyone get close to you, or…" He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the side of England's head, willing him to turn around (third time's the charm?).

England blinked. "You could say that…"

They lapsed into another silence, America brooding and England transferring the last forkfuls of food from the plate to his mouth. No sooner had the last chip passed his lips, England stood up, taking his plate and depositing it in the dishwasher under the watchful eyes of America.

"Hey," came the slightly delayed protest. "What'cha doing?"

"I," England sighed dramatically, "am going to sleep. It's been a long day."

America spluttered unattractively (wait, what kind of description was that?) and jumped to his feet, miraculously avoiding the table with all four limbs and all ten digits.

"Huh? Dude – it's, like, 9:30."

"Yes, and half two in the morning my time. As I said, it has been a long day, my lad and, knowing you, it'll be an even longer night tomorrow. So – I am merely being logical and catching up on my much needed rest while I'm still able."

"But I wanted to watch a movie with you," America blurted and crossed his arms. England rolled his eyes. "Surely you can watch it without me."

America's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "But it's a horror; I _need_ to watch it with someone. Kiku said he'd stop teaching me Japanese if I didn't watch it," America responded glumly to England's open mouth.

"Well. Too bad on you. I'm off to bed. Goodnight, America."

And England turned to go upstairs to the (his) room to sleep, not bothering to listen to America's whining. Honestly – he could cope. England 'tch'd' and started his pre-bedtime routine. Five minutes later, he was buttoning the buttons on his pyjama top (contemplating America's foolishness the entire time) when he heard the door creak open. He turned to see sandy hair and large blue eyes peeking in from hallway. He prepared himself for the worst before turning to face the boy.

"What is it, America?"

The younger Nation opened the door and shuffled inside. He seemed hesitant, England noted. As if to prove this observation, he waited an incredibly long time for America to speak. Long enough for England to lose patience.

"For goodness sake – _what, _America?"

This seemed to startle him into cooperation and he stared down at England with fearful eyes. "Um… Well, haha, you're gonna hate me, but since I mentioned that movie? I'm kinda thinking about, uh, _horror _in general now…and…"

America trailed off and looked imploringly at England, worrying his bottom lip and twisting his hands together. And something in those eyes – whether it was the pleading, the innocent, the saddened, the trusting look – caused England to cave into his cacophonous emotions.

England cleared his throat and turned away. "I know you think it's early, but…I suppose I'll allow you to sleep with me tonight if you believe it to be of any help."

"Ohmigod, yay! I knew you'd say yes!" With that, America wasted no time in jumping onto the bed and burrowing under the covers – much to England's dismay and _surprise, _he noted with a grimace.

"Do you really intend to sleep with your clothes on," he squawked indignantly.

"Dude, you have no idea how hard it was to brush my teeth. I kept thinking zombie-creepazoids were gonna jump through the window, or something. Plus – I'm wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants – how much more pajama-ish could I get? Oh, hang on…" He dug around under the covers for a few seconds and eventually pulled his socks from underneath the blankets. He threw them at England who dodged easily and pinched the bridge of his nose as America exhaled loudly. "Sooooo much better. There's nothing I hate more than sleeping with socks on."

He grinned at England. "And don't you even _think _'except me' or whatever 'cause you know that's not true."

England removed his hand from his face to glance sharply at America who kept right on grinning. "…You're daft, my dear lad."

In answer, America patted the side of the bed and wiggled even further under the sheets so that only his blue eyes peered out. …Those stupidly blue eyes. England steeled himself for the onslaught of emotions (he was past denying it) and flicked off the light, feeling his way towards the bed.

"Englaaaaand, hurry up – it's dark."

"Well, _yes_ – that's what happens when there is an absence of light."

"But it's scaaaaaaary!"

England sighed and lifted up the covers, sliding into them – already made warm by America's body heat. "Hush, now. I'm tired." And with that, England let his head hit the pillow, pointedly facing away from America's face and staring moodily at the lamp's silhouette. He could almost feel America's smile disappear as he was faced with this dilemma.

"…Englaaand. I can't see your face."

"An astounding observation, America."

Instead of a whine of dismay as he expected, all England received in answer was a sigh of anger and disappointment.

"Jesus… Why the hell do I even try?" This was followed by an incomprehensible muttering.

England's shoulders tensed and he tried not to notice how quickly America's mood had changed, tried not to notice how disappointed America was – all because of England. He really did. And for a long time England listened to America tossing and turning from his same position. Eventually the movement stopped and England wanted nothing more than to relax and forget – simply wake up in the morning and, and…do something normal.

But the lingering feeling of guilt simply would not go away and it was causing England to remain awake against his will. So slowly…ever so slowly, he turned to face the boy. He was met with closed eyes, heavy breathing and a peaceful expression. After lingering perhaps a mite too long on the boy's face, England's eyes trailed down to a hand lying limply on the pillow.

His mind wandered to about twenty four hours ago in the basement when he had wrenched his hands out of America's…and how they had looked so empty afterwards…

England looked up at America's face and back at the hand. He hesitated for a split second before he tentatively clutched it in his own, noticing how much bigger it was compared to his. How nice and warm it was…

Suddenly, America's other hand appeared from underneath the sheets and snagged England's, so that it was enclosed within both of his large hands. A smile appeared on his apparently not sleeping face and it was with a herculean effort that England managed not to swear at the top of his lungs.

America sighed and spoke softly. "This is why I try…"

If it was possible at this angle, England's jaw would have dropped at such a…tender response. He decided to keep his hands there for the sole purpose of: it felt nice. Which was an oddly undefined reason for one such as him. Ah well… He had the entire day tomorrow to think it over.

And as the night drew on, the snow fell and fell, unnoticed beyond the walls of their room by the two Nations, blushing and breathing in unison.

_AN - I love fluff. Erm. Yeah. Sorry if it's too much sap or whatever. Anyway. So this chapter is the last that I had had already written. (I was planning on waiting until I had it all done before posting, but a friend convinced me otherwise.) So - instead of one update after the other, there might be a couple days before each. Not too long though - I want to have the events match up as much as possible with real-life days. So yeah. Thanks for everything. The reviews and support mean a lot! Also - I know Britons spell airplane as aeroplane (I think), but I'm not sure if that goes for airports as well. So...sorry if airport is spelled wrong in 'British talk.' _

_BUT! I DID change pyjama to pajama depending on who was saying/thinking it. Did you see what I did thar? (I personally spell it as pyjama, FYI.)_


	8. No Room For

They slept well into the afternoon. And why not? It was New Year's Eve day and their first day off in a long time. They could afford it.

It was around 1:00 p.m. and England was drifting within the realms of semi-consciousness - where dreams, thoughts, and feelings were highly indistinguishable from one another. He was certainly aware of America's hands over his and his broad forehead pressed to his own, but he couldn't for the life of him tell if this was his imagination running wild or actual reality. Oh well… For now he was content to just lie here and pretend that this strange phenomenon didn't need to be questioned, or investigated, or scrutinized. He sighed softly and a lock of hair was disturbed by the slight movement. He contemplated fixing it, but that would require him removing his hands from America's.

Suddenly, America did just that and turned abruptly so that his back was facing England. A second passed and America sneezed – a powerful and ear-splitting sneeze that succeeded in jerking England back to wakefulness. He groaned as America laughed sheepishly and turned back to face him, his eyes shining.

"Wow - that was dumb! You're stupid hair tickled my nose England; it's all your fault."

England shot him a withering glare and flattened his hair back in place. "It's 'entirely your fault,' I think you mean."

All previous sheepishness in America's grin disappeared to be replaced by the more usual wicked glee. "I don't think I've ever heard that one before, Arthur!"

England ignored America's quip and pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Blimey, what time is it?" He looked to his left, saw no clock and looked to his right, across America. Ah, there it was… He scoffed loudly when his vision was met with Texas lying just so the glasses lenses distorted the digital reading of the (oddly) unoriginal clock, making it impossible to read.

He rolled his eyes and reached over America's bulk to shift the glasses across the table. …Where did that squeak come from? He chanced a look at the boy who just grinned back at him before turning to actually read the damned time-telling device. When he had done so, (with a twitch of annoyance at the lateness) he moved back over onto his side of the bed. He raised an eyebrow at America's pinched expression.

"Are you holding your breath?"

America let out his breath in a whoosh. "No! Maybe you wanna get your eyes checked too, Frumpers."

"Oh, shut it." England flicked America's on the shoulder and made to get up and greet the…afternoon. Hmm. That certainly hadn't happened in a long while. Oh, this boy and his influences… He was stopped from doing so by said Nation clutching an armful of his pyjamas in a loose fist.

"Unhand me, you," England prodded gently. "I, unlike you, am not atrociously lazy, nor do I wish to spend the entire day in bed – no matter how unproductive this day is shaping up to be."

America pouted and eventually relinquished his hold on England, turning to lie on his back. His earlier sneeze had rumpled each and every blanket so that they lay twisted and trailing off one side of the bed. His look of utter misery was almost enough to convince England to lie back down onto the bed and caress his worry lines away –

This thought of utter foolishness was certainly enough to convince England to banish this fantasy from his mind and leave this bed. It squeaked slightly and America remained unmoving. This unnerved England and he strove to find a way to regain that smile he was so…well, fond of.

An idea came to mind and, smirking slightly, England made his way around the bed so that he was closer to America. Maybe he would kill two birds with one stone with his plan.

"I think I know how to get your lazy arse off of that bed."

America looked up at him, seemingly unnerved by England's close proximity. "Oh yeah," he asked and England decided to pretend to not the notice the slightly breathless intonation to the lad's question. He leaned over him and raised his eyebrows slightly when America did the same, only leaning up. The boy certainly wanted _something _and England was beginning to get the impression that it was no longer as simple as holding hands. I-Intriguing… One bird down; now for getting America up.

"E-England?" America whispered his name and England almost lost himself in that stare – slightly glazed and needy – almost lost his grip on reality that he so prided himself on. At the last minute he remembered that dignity and prodded America in the ribs, causing him to back up and wiggle uncomfortably.

"Hey, t-that tickles." England poked him again and he squirmed, his grin returning full-force and a few chortles escaping his lips which only escalated in volume with each playful jab to each of his ribs. Soon enough, he was full-on guffawing and swiped at England who dodged nimbly out of the way. This sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and topple oh so 'heroically' off of the bed, much to England's delight; he was victorious in rousing the lad from his ridiculous stupor.

"Indeed," England replied smugly (if not a little shakily) to the laughing heap of a Nation on the floor. "I'm not willing to put up with you moping about all day. Did you want to watch that movie so you can 'get it over with,' or whatever nonsense you wish to accomplish with such a task? Because _you _should consider yourself lucky that I'm even suggesting this."

The British Nation offered a hand to America, who took it and hauled himself up with all the gentleness he could muster. England then proceeded to kick him out so that he could change in peace, ignoring the repeated chants of "Pajama day, pajama day!" Once the hollering Nation was out of his room, England closed it and locked it, thankful for the first bit of peace he had received all day.

He slowly dressed, pulling a long sleeved, wool sweater – hand knitted by himself – over his small frame and a pair of black, semi-formal pants – made of a soft material – comfortable enough in which to spend the day, but civilized enough so that he wouldn't look like a right slob…like America.

_Alfred…_

England automatically made the bed, smoothing out the covers and righting the pillows. His fingers grazed over America's as if it were possible to feel any of his remaining essence. What…what was happening? Even the sound of America humming to himself while brushing his teeth – audible through the bedroom wall – was enough to send England into a tumultuous chaos of want. Of, of…a certain hunger.

"Fuck…"

England gripped the headboard in order to steady himself. It was only when he heard America pause outside his door, did he turn the lock and the knob and walk out.

He hoped fervently that there would be alcohol tonight.

I I I

After a relatively short lunch of cereal and fruit - Honey Nut Cheerios for England and Fruit Loops for America since the house didn't seem to contain anything healthy, England noticed – the pair made their way downstairs to watch the movie. Although the daylight calmed America of his greater fears, the (mockingly predictable) horror scenes still managed to glean quite a reaction, resulting in an annoyingly clingy Nation. England tried (half-heartedly) to push him off, but gave-up altogether after several repetitions.

The movie was, thankfully, short – and utter tripe - and the credits rolled across the screen accompanied by a sound effect resembling a howling wind. England looked down at the boy, looked at America's face pressed into his side and the arms wrapped around his waist. Ah well… At least Japan wouldn't have to suffer through this one.

England was just about to prod the boy to see if he had fallen asleep, preposterous as that would be, when America shifted slightly and hummed in the back of his throat. England frowned down at the messy hair beside him.

"What's on your mind, lad?"

America shifted again, turning his face away so his voice could become less muffled and answered. "You."

England blinked at how matter-of-factly he voiced this. He blinked again. And fought to keep his breathing under control. "Oh…really now?"

"Haha, yeah. Um…yeah. How about yours?"

England was spared answering by Lady Gaga's Bad Romance suddenly blaring from America's pocket. He cursed and extricated his arms from around England's waist and sat up. He reached into his pocket, stared at the screen in confusion for a second, then jumped as if in realization before answering it hurriedly.

"Hey, dig-dawg Mat_tay_ – wasup?"

England heard this and made the connection. Oh, Canada.

"Whadda ya want? No, no – I'm listening. Dude, seriously – go ahead. What the heck - I'm totally not interrupting. You excited for New Year's? _France_ is there? Maaaaaan – I'm never gonna understand how you put up with that guy."

The conversation continued like this and England, eventually becoming restless, stood up, squeezed America's shoulder lightly and walked back upstairs, if only to have some space for a while. He walked into the living-room and looked out the window, turned away and whipped his head back – a massive double take.

Snow. There was so much snow. At least thirty five centimeters of snow must have fallen throughout the night. The street was plowed haphazardly – as if the machine responsible had had much more important areas of the city to clear. Which it probably did, but still. There was a lot of snow. _First Heathrow and now this…_

England walked slowly towards the window and looked up at the cloudy sky – a few freezing flakes still falling here and there. He didn't turn when he heard America clomping up the stairs, or when a quiet 'oh, shit' followed. Soon enough, America was at his side, staring at the endless white along with him.

"Mattie just called to ask if everything was all right 'cause of all the snow. I didn't even notice it, haha – but… I sure as hell don't think we have the kind of plows and stuff he has to clear all this… I haven't been paying attention to the News lately – maybe the airports here are messed up, too. It's kind of a surprise, huh?"

England perked a bit at his wording and nodded, staring out at the blanket of white across the road and surrounding trees. He hesitantly moved himself closer to America's side. And America, just as hesitantly, draped and arm around his shoulders, drawing him even closer. England sighed and noticed dimly how fast the discomfort at such a touch had changed into something resembling relief.

"I'm just glad we're here and safe today." America nodded, thinking the same.

I I I

The rest of the evening passed surprisingly uneventfully. England read or sewed or sat and thought, trying to seem as calm and relaxed as possible. In reality, he felt as if he were standing on the edge of a rocky outcrop – unable to decide whether or not to jump; whether there was a fatal fall or a short skip onto even ground. Everything seemed to point towards America wanting…well, marginally the same as he did. But was he really willing to cross the last line?

America loudly announced that it was going to be impossible to get more alcohol because of all the snow, so they would have to make do with a bottle of champagne.

"Since when do you care that much about alcohol," England had called out.

"S'not me who's the alcoholic," came the response. England grumbled moodily for the next few minutes while America just laughed.

Neither had really felt like driving through the iffy conditions to Times Square and America already knew that crowds and hubbub weren't really England's cup of tea – which England was silently grateful for. America's house and TV it would be. After several commands turned pleas by America, ('don't tell me what to do!') the two Nations made their way downstairs to sit on the couch in front of the (still) overly large television. Not a second passed and America had jumped back up - almost upsetting England's tea cup in the process – announcing that he would return 'in a second.'

When he did, he came back with two thin glasses, one bottle of Henkell Trocken and a white fuzzy blanket which he deposited on top of England's head, much to England's chagrin. He ducked his head to shake it off just as America popped the cork on the bottle. England froze as he felt the air whistle where his head had been and the cork crash through the ceiling. England's scowl was certainly a shade more furious after his head emerged from the confines of the blanket than what it was before.

"…Oops."

Oops. That was all he could muster? But then the sound of the alcohol being poured succeeded in lightening England's mood…if only a little. America then sat down beside England, lifting the blanket and draping it over both of them. He turned up the volume on the almost muted TV and England clenched his hands under the fuzzy material, acutely aware of America's thigh touching his.

The minutes ticked down to 2011 and the two Nations bickered aimlessly about various goings on in their respective countries. Strictly non-work related, of course. They could never really do anything _but _bicker when they talked, England thought – a little sadly. But at least they were fighting a lot less these days. Well...this past _one_ day.

The announcer from New York Times Square was shouting into the microphone, half grimacing half smiling at the camera and doing everything possible to be heard over the thousands of screaming people. England did not envy him. It was much better to be here in a house, warm under a soft blanket, away from everything and everyone…

Well, not everyone.

England turned his head slightly and chanced a glance at America, who, as if sensing this, looked as well. When eye contact was made, it was quickly broken as both Nations turned away.

A silence fell between them as the last few minutes ticked away – the announcer talking about nothing in order to pass the time. The giant New Year's ball was all aglow as well as the surrounding buildings and handheld devices the resilient New York citizens were waving in the air. _Booze all around,_ England thought to himself and drowned his third glass of champagne.

"Are you ready for the countdown?" America's face was also glowing – happiness and excitement radiating from his smile. England couldn't help but smile a little in response to the lad's. His mind was buzzing nicely – partly from the alcohol, partly because of America's close proximity and mostly because of the impending New Year, the implication of starting all things afresh…and what that might mean for their relationship.

"10, 9, 8, 7, 6…" America started off the chanting, pressed up close to England's shoulder – eyes shining.

England, spurred on by America's enthusiasm, followed along – face softening and truly relaxed for the first time in a while. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" America's shouted exclamation overpowered England's murmur of agreement, but both said it nonetheless – accompanied by the thousands screaming on the television. The 2011 sign glowed with an intensity that rivaled even the fireworks' brightness.

The fireworks could be heard from outside, as well. Each boom all but shook the walls of America's residence and England couldn't be sure which was louder – the gun powder laced explosions or his beating heart as he turned towards America. He made a split second decision – no room for thoughts or hesitance or confusions. He waited until America looked his way - no doubt with the intention to pester him with more celebratory exclamations – and cupped his chin in one hand. America's grin shrunk to a questioning smile as he searched the Nation's eyes. England swallowed and leaned forward.

Amidst the cheers and the lights and the explosions and the impenetrable silence, their lips met on the dawning of the New Year.

_AN - FINALLY! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW 'SUSPENSED' I WAS THE LAST FEW PARAGRAPHS BEFORE 'IT' HAPPENED! Oohhh...my. So the first half is on time with right now. But the second half... well - it'll come in...just over 10 hours. For me at least, anyway. Also! The title is supposed to be: No Room For... high stress on the dot dot dot. But, no! FF won't let me. D: Oh well. Just so you know. _

_Also, also! From what I am aware, in the newspaper, there's actually a shit-ton of snow troubles in New York. Also Heathrow. Or at least, there was. So if anyone's caught up in that - best of wishes. _

_I'm so sorry for the cliffhanger! Oh my god, I would hate me if I were you. :P The next chapter will be up later today or tomorrow. _

_Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya and thank god for that. :D _


	9. The Illusion of Stability

**Note: This chapter should be rated mature, but I'm honestly not familiar enough with this website to change the chapter rating. If it even exists. That being said - it is Mature material. Only this chapter. But still. Heads up. :D**

Oh. _Oh._

And just as fast as England started the, the _kiss (!)_, he stopped – pulled away and stared. He could feel his face heat up and up and up until he couldn't be sure what embarrassed him more – his previous action or the redness that was certainly saturating his cheeks.

But god, if he didn't want this. How could he possibly ignore this feeling of – of – need and incomprehension for everything around him? Meanwhile, America breathed for the first time in what seemed like hours – the air rushing across England's lips – they were still so close. And his heart kept doing weird skitter-y things in his chest – what the heck was with that?

He placed a hand over England's which was still cupping his chin lightly, so lightly.

"…Awesome."

England kept staring, refusing to continue what he had just done. Was it the alcohol? It couldn't possibly be just America – that was absurd, that was preposterous, that was, that was…inevitable. "What are we doing America?" England's whisper carried over the blasts and cheers – for America's ears were trained to his voice only.

America inched forward, their noses touching and smiled hesitantly. "Uh…I dunno. I mean – I know _what_ we're doing, but I, I'm kinda confused. But I want…"

England could also feel the want bubbling in his chest to the point of no return. He knew that it would soon overflow and then…who knew what would happen next? He breathed in the scent of America - all but covering his lips with his own. So close…

"What do you want America?"

The lad's breath hitched and he repeated his earlier statement, only this time much less nonchalant: "You."

And the dam within England – the dam that had been slowly eroding away with each touch, each softly spoken word, each guarded _look - _burst. He looked at the lad in front of him, who clearly wanted more, noticed how easy it would be to _cross that last line _and fucking kiss him properly. He just couldn't seem to do it. As if America had read England's mind, he reached for the remote, muted the television and did just that.

"Alfred…"

America quickly swiveled around on the couch, lifting his legs up and wrapping them around England's slim waist, never breaking contact with his mouth and his tongue and his already slightly swollen lips and _ohmigod, this is actually happening – awesooome!_

England – fine with having America make the first _real _move - combed his fingers through America's hair, moving slowly away from his mouth to his jaw to his neck and collarbone, absently sucking or biting here and there to the increasingly pleasured responses. America on the other hand, chanced his way under England's sweater, breath rate increasing and hands roaming over clenching muscles and battle scars.

"Mmm," England sighed in appreciation against the lad's lips; America's hands were nice and warm.

"Englaaaand…" America breathed under England's ministrations.

"Even in a situation like this you whine. What now – am I too boring already?" England murmured huskily and remedied this by twisting around between America's legs and simultaneously pushing him down on the couch, crawling over him inch by agonizing inch. He nudged one knee into America's growing arousal to which he gasped in surprise.

"Jesus, England! W-who knew…hah…you were so hot?"

England's eyes widened and he huffed – face tinged pink. He 'tch'd' and searched for an adequate comeback – a difficult feat considering his current position and the fact that he had never been referred to as 'hot' before... America, of course, noticed England's flustered reaction and grinned. He groped around at England's neck for a second before grabbing a fistful of sweater and pulling him forward suggestively. "The one day you don't wear a tie, haha!"

England silenced him with a kiss which quickly turned into an exploration, a battleground, and an adventure. The two Nations pressed close – ever closer – using this somehow long-awaited moment for touching and sucking and groping and arching and breathing against each other. Soon enough, the current exposure to each Nation's bodies was just not enough. England scowled at the t-shirt covering America's broad chest and broke their heavy kisses long enough to force it over his head and toss it onto the floor.

"T-Take it all in, baby." America laughed jerkily and received a cuff on the ear for that. "Hey! I'm fuckin' hot and you got it all."

"Would you just – just shut it?" England lowered his eyes and indeed 'took it all in,' although, he would never admit it to America. He lowered his head and licked teasingly up and around America's abdominals, ribcage and his hipbones; purposely straying from where America wanted him most.

"Ah, f-fuck, England. Take off your clothes too; I don't wannahh…" America trailed off as one of England's hands dipped below the waistband of his pants and squeezed. He smiled coyly and pulled his hand back out in order to shrug off his sleeves - to pull the sweater slowly off of his small body. He smirked at America's dumbfounded expression and folded the sweater, (more quickly than it had come off) placing it on the floor and returning to the task at hand: America.

But before he could even lower himself down, the stupidly boisterous lad had gripped his shoulders and swiveled them around so that it was England lying at the mercy of America's ministrations. And _boy_ did he plan on making them good.

"You ready for a heroic time, babe?" He palmed at the bulge in England's (much too dressy) pants and laughed huskily when the smaller Nation gasped and arched into the touch. "I…ah, I severely hope that, mmm, you realize how pathetic t-that sounded."

America kissed him – hard and sloppy and full of want. "All comes with the package, Arthur. And speaking of packages…" He waggled his eyebrows at England who groaned in disbelief and hugged at America's neck, drawing him down, down, down. His groan quickly turned from that of disdain to that of pleasure as America's mouth made its way sinfully south.

"Ah…_yes_, darling – a-ah."

America cooed happily and leaned back up to plant a quick kiss to England's lips. He paused for a second and England, noticing this, frowned up at his boyish face. "What – what the devil is it now…Alfred?"

The younger Nation grinned unexpectedly and kissed him again, and again – hardly stopping for breath. "Nothing. Haha, well…I'm just really, uh, happy, I guess." And before England could respond, America abruptly stood up and off the couch. He then leant forward, scooped England into his arms and proceeded across the room and up the stairs – flicking off the light with his nose and not bothering with the TV. England let lose a muffled shout and pushed weakly at America's arms – a foolish venture, seeing as the boy was able to swing a buffalo above his head as a small child. "What, pray tell, are you doing, you git?" His arms were wrapped around America's neck – slightly sweat-shined – in order to give himself the illusion of stability.

"I just remembered that France gave me a bottle of lube for my birthday last summer – thanks for that secret present, by the way - and I've never thrown it out, haha! But it's upstairs and you're slow sometimes so I thought I'd just carry you. S'also kind of a nice couch down there."

"Stop talking," England muttered into his shoulder. "Bloody frog…"

America kicked open the door to his room and set England gently down onto his bed. He caught England's mouth in a chaste kiss before opening various drawers and cabinets in his search for the elusive lube. England lowered himself to the sheets and was once more hit with the smell of America. And with that smell came the onslaught of emotions following the adrenaline rush, the clear knowledge of what he was about to do…with _Alfred _of all people. But – no matter how hard he tried (and he wasn't trying hard) – he couldn't find himself shying away from any of this, couldn't force his heart to stop beating so furiously.

He jumped slightly when America - having snuck up behind him - smoothed a hand from his shoulder down his arm in a surprisingly tender fashion. "England," he whispered and the addressed Nation turned quickly to face him, pulling his head down for another string of kisses. He was beyond denying, beyond rejecting, beyond caring…but only just beginning to realize all of this.

America was soon overtop of England once again, propped up on his elbows so as not to crush England – or something stupid like that. _It would totally suck if I crushed England right now 'cause, 'cause - gah!_ America laughed against England's mouth and his hand moved to unzip the zipper overtop of England's re-expanding arousal.

"Good lord, Alfred! Hah – get rid of your fucking pants, already." England was downright panting now and America not too far behind. With fumbling fingers, he untied the strings on his sweatpants (_yes, no belt!) _while England shed his already unzipped pants and boxers, tossing the over the side of the bed. America finally succeeded in doing the same and stared openly, causing England to blush furiously.

America seemed to snap out of it when he noticed the lack of _England _in his arms. He moved towards him then, guiding him down, fitting against him like two pieces of a puzzle. Two of the most opposite puzzle pieces one would ever happen to chance upon, but…that was okay. Every once and a while England would murmur coos and pet names into his ear and America jumped at the chance to say everything that was sticking in the back of his throat. But he couldn't get them past, couldn't bring himself to say what he meant.

Eventually, America broke the silence, (if their mutual panting and curses could be considered a silence) feeling a need to say something – he couldn't stand not being heard – the silence made him feel so uncertain. "Are you, ah, sure it's o-okay that I, I…"

England rolled his eyes and reached for the lube, unscrewing it in one fluid motion and pouring a reasonable amount into his hand. He turned to look back up at America. "You're, ah, here now, aren't you? I don't really care – just get on with it."

America smiled down at him. "Haha! You always tell me how over-eager I am and –"

His protest was cut short and a loud gasp rattled through his lungs as England – having had enough of his endless chatter – gripped his cock and smoothed his hands over it, slathering it with lube. _Thankfully_ - England thought in the back of his mind - _it isn't French._ The whole room would have smelled of roses or some stupidly pungent perfume otherwise.

He smirked up at America's staggered expression and continued his ministrations up and down the length. "It seems as if I've found my w-way to shut you up."

"Hah – haha, y-yeah…" Inwardly, America cursed his inability to be clever. But England himself was enough to make him somewhat splutter-y let alone his hand stroking his cock so nicely. He – grudgingly – lifted England's hand and intertwined it with his own, so that the lube could be transferred for…for what was to come. _Haha – what was to __**come**__…_

He leaned forward and kissed England on the nose as a silent 'sort-of-apology' and grinned at how his face instantly flared up. He quickly inserted a finger into his entrance, hoping to get past the pain he knew was causing England to go through. No need to worry though, as he found _that_ spot with relatively little searching and almost lost it right then and there when he caught sight of England's moaned reaction. _All because of me!_

A second and third finger followed the first, including soft murmurs of consolation (Yes, darling – perfectly lovely – my dear Alfred) and even softer caresses.

"Are you," America gulped, "are you ready?"

"Mmhmm… Yes, dear lad – get on with it."

"Kay, well – if you want me to, uh, stop –"

"I am perfectly w-willing to flip you over and, ah, fuck you m-myself if you don't shut it."

"Haha, k-kay…" And America removed his fingers, lowered himself down, and pushed himself slowly inside; in between England's spread legs (_England's spread legs, ohmigod)_ and –

Oh. _Oh. _Yes. This is what he wanted. Definitely what he wanted.

"Move," England commanded and America was more than happy to oblige.

After the first few beginning thrusts, the bed started to shake and America contemplated voicing this – he found it quite funny – but thought better of it, worrying about what England would threaten to do to him. England's heat enveloped him completely and it was all he could do - as it was - to support himself above England who lay panting below him. America, wanting to do something in which to increase England's pleasure, grasped his length in a shaking hand and pumped it in time with each thump of the bed hitting the wall. America couldn't help but laugh a little at that and England managed to shoot him a glare through his glassy eyes.

"If you're, hah, laughing at the bed sh-shaking, I, I'll, h-hah…" England inhaled sharply and threw his head back, wincing slightly. "No, no – it's fine, dear. Perfectly, mmm, wonderful…" And England arched just so that America echoed his gasp and clenched his eyes shut. Their hands continued to roam freely, bodies free of clothing and freely sweating at the exertion. Every couple of seconds their mouths would find each other and tongues would tangle; fingers would run through damp hair. Vague half-whispers of confused syllables moved beyond their lips when they weren't covered with the others'.

All the endearments from England flowed into America's ears and only added to his pleasure. Hot guy plus great sex equals a sweet deal. _And he actually cares; who knew? _America grinned to himself and panted against England's kiss-swollen lips as the heat inside his stomach coiled tighter and tighter – like a, a snake, or something poetic like that. He thrust up once more into England's willing body and emptied himself, seeing naught but white stars, (_haha, like my flag_) breathing erratic. His hand continued to move against England's cock. A few seconds passed and England's body tensed _(Alfred!)_ – white, sticky strands soon covered his stomach and America's fingers.

Their breath passed ragged through their lungs and America eventually slipped out, sucking his fingers clean of England's seed and laughing quietly in sheer relief at what the night had become. _Who knew, who knew, who knew?_

"Who knew," America said before he could stop the words from leaping out of his mouth. England, still breathing heavily, raised an eyebrow at the younger Nation. He slowly lifted a hand and brushed his fingers through America's hair, fingers shaking slightly and coming to rest on America's cheek. He looked at the boy close his eyes and lean into the touch, probably anticipating an answer.

"Who knew, indeed?" America opened his eyes to England's trademark half-smile, his green eyes shining. This was enough to convince America that: Hey – a lot has changed, but I guess…_this _is what we're in together.

"Come here." England's voice was gentle and America scrambled over, not needing to be told twice. He lifted the covers over both of their bodies and snuggled in close to England's surprising warmth. _Surprising…_

England absent-mindedly stroked America's hair, reveling at the lad's ability to remain silent for more than five minutes.

"Hey, England?" _Oh, there we go._

Yes, luv?" A contented hum.

"…Are you surprised?" America bit his lip and chanced a look up at England, who was neither smiling nor frowning. His hand moved a comforting and lulling rhythm against his hair.

"Yes. But not so much anymore. As much as I hate to admit it, your charm has certainly, ah, swayed me, America." England allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch when America grinned in response. It was different somehow than usual – full of happiness, giddiness, trust, perhaps a smidgeon of vulnerability. England thought this through again and decided that – no – this smile was America's usual. Just a bit smaller in scale.

America murmured incoherently against England's collarbone then spoke at a normal volume. "I wonder if you'll be limping tomorrow…"

England smirked in the darkness (they had never turned the lamp on) and tapped America on the nose. "I may be, but I'm wondering if you're going to need crutches to walk when I'm though with you…"

America's eyes widened and he looked up at England, but couldn't make eye contact since they had already shut. His breath was becoming more and more regular and America envied his ability to fall asleep so easily.

"Haha, what?"

The corners of England's eyes crinkled and he placed a fleeting kiss on America's temple.

"Sweet dreams, Alfred."

And America wondered for an unnecessarily long time if he should take him seriously.

_AN - You have no idea how hard it was for me to write this. This - fangirls and possibly fanboys - is my first written smut. Ever. So. I'm really, really scared at how people are gonna react to it. Hahaha, gahhhh - It took me so long to write... D: Oh well. It's only 24 hours late. And I wonder if anyone can guess what the next chapter's gonna be about? ;)_

_Also - this is the second-last chapter. So's ya know. :) One more left, folks. I MIGHT include an epilogue. We'll see how I feel about the ending. Thank you so much for the kind words! See ya next chapter! _


	10. The Miracle Bench

**- Ohmigod, please forgive me for the wait; my excuse will be at the end. In apology I've written a double length chapter! Hearts to you all!**

The clouds parted in the morning to reveal blue skies, making way for the sun - clarity, warmth and radiance – in both the skies and England's mind. His face softened as the floodgates opened and the memories poured in, filling the wide open cavities that had been cleared of decades of dust. Not one to be caught sleeping in, (he needn't count New Year's) he opened his eyes – greeted by a magnified version of America's smiling face. England resisted the urge to fall off of the bed in fright. He irritably shoved the lad's face away from his and scoffed as he was met by laughter, as per usual.

"'Sup, England?"

"Not me, surprisingly. You I can understand, but…" He trailed off and hesitantly placed a light kiss on America's temple – still somewhat hesitant. It was all just so new and wonderful. Almost too good to be true. England banished that kind of thinking from his mind – with some difficulty – and made to slip away. America, of course, interrupted.

"Heeeeey, don't go!" At this America placed a hand on England's shoulder, somewhat like how a paperweight would sit on something, forcing it not to move.

"America, let go of me. It feels positively atrocious under here; I'm taking a shower."

Haha, half of that is you, baby." America grinned, but let go of England despite the protest. He watched as England's back receded to the adjoining bathroom, noticing the slight tine of pink adorning the tips of his ears. America could feel his own face heat up at the onrush of memories from last night.

…_Last night. Ha. With England! That's, like, soooo weird, but soooo awesome. _

America sat up in his bed _(man, these sheets're gonna need washing_) and listened as the taps turned in the bathroom. He made a quick calculation in his head and an even quicker decision. No sooner than it had been made, and he shot out of bed – the shower could wait; this was more important – and threw open the drawers of his dresser, searching for grungy wear. He found a disgusting, but so totally comfortable pair of blue, red, and white striped P.J.'s and a plain white – well, off-white, now – t-shirt complete with holes of various sizes. He thrust it over his head and charged out the door. Okay, _into_ the door, but the t-shirt was covering his face. Not his fault.

He finally succeeded in forcing his arms through the sleeves and pushed open the door, hightailing it to the computer room. He launched himself onto the squishy computer chair, praising it for, like, the bajillionth time for its continued stamina. Haha, stamina.

He opened Google – no matter how many times he typed 'com,' it would always come up as 'ca,' what was with that? – and began his search, frantically clicking and cursing and glancing over his shoulder for any sign of England. He eventually found what he was looking for and shouted in delight when the little hourglass thing went away and an e-mail popped up, confirming what he had just done.

He grinned and spun around in the chair a few times in celebration. He then jumped up and exited the room, proud of himself for having planned and actually accomplishing this. He stood in the hallway; ears pricked and listened to the sound of running water. Satisfied, he stomped downstairs, almost falling, but totally catching himself.

England England England England England…

_Arthur Arthur Athur Arthur Arthur Arthur! _

America grinned from ear to ear, preparing to make England's favourite tea. 'Cause, like hell if he wouldn't do that after how fuckin' awesome he had been last night. He rummaged around in the cupboard and made to pull out a box of pancake mix. Uhh… No pancake mix. Hmm. Oh! There were waffles in the freezer… that would have to do.

He set them on the counter and waited for the kettle to boil. England shouldn't take that much longer. Hmm…maybe he'd check – just to see –

"Oh _shit!_ I left the computer screen, thing-y, site, window open!" And with a startled whimper, America stampeded up the stairs, turned a corner to see England walking out – of the damned computer room.

England looked up at America's deer-in-the-headlights expression and stared. "Everything alright, darling?"

And America momentarily forgot that the _whole freakin' world could be in jeopardy _all because of England's stupid, sweet look of innocence. The petname helped, too. But then he remembered. He bit his lip sheepishly at the Nation (with wet hair) in front of him – god, he smelled good – and looked into the room. The window was still up, the chair still turned at a weird angle, nothing seemed disturbed. America jogged the four steps over to the monitor and clicked the 'close' button, breathing a sigh of relief.

He looked back at England who looked right back at him. _He's totally laughing at me in his head…_ But he had to know.

"Uhh, England? Did you, em…_see_ anything in there?"

"Of course not, lad. I was merely, ah, looking for a highlighter for my book. I mark things sometimes, you see."

"Doesn't that, like, wreck your precious, five hundred year old babies, or something?"

"Do shut it. If only you were as nice during the day as you are in bed. T'would make my life so much easier. Ah, is that a kettle I hear?"

It took America a few seconds to stop spluttering and _stop blushing for fuck's sake_ enough to actually prepare England's tea. And those frozen waffles. Artificial blueberry goodness.

I I I

Two days passed and with them England's resolve to not come in constant contact with America. He recalled the way America's mouth would shrink into a little 'o' and how much better it had looked when the boy was writhing underneath him… The two were currently sitting on the couch – England reading by the lamplight and America tucked under his arm, watching him read. With growing impatience, England could see.

"We should do something, England." America listened for a grand total of half a second for England's reply and continued on regardless. "Let's make snow angels."

England didn't look up from the page. "I hardly think that's appropriate considering the time and the snow is already melting. It's like this city has some sort of snow repellent."

America sighed. "Yeah…If only Mattie were here."

"Contrary to what you may believe Canada's presence isn't enough to bring the snow…despite how much of it he receives…"

"Haha, yeah." A palpable pause. "Hey, England. Wanna do it?"

"…I'm almost tempted to say no, moron. I certainly do not envy your grammatical skills."

England set his book on the side table and America laughed, opening his arms. They tripped their way off the couch, up the stairs and through the hallways, insulting each other all the way – nearly giving up the comfort of a bed in their haste to undress each other. When they finally burst through the door, America fell, face-up on the comforter first and looked up at England, eyes glazed with lust.

"Why such a rush, darling?"

America just grinned and pulled at England's tie – the last of the few articles of clothing still clinging to his body.

"It's a surprise."

I I I

The next morning, England awoke to sunlight streaming over the sheets and…no America. Odd. It was unlike the lad to be out of bed before England. He stretched and blinked open his eyes. The first thing to come into focus was a hastily scribbled note saying: **Dude, we're going somewhere today, so get out of bed cause we need to leave sort of early, kay?**

England looked at the time. It was already 9:00 – how early was early in America's dictionary? He scoffed and shook his head, pushing himself up and out of the covers. He wandered out of the room, after slipping on a pair of America's pants he had found in the drawer and walked to the foot of the stairs to where he could hear America's off-key singing in time to the radio.

He cupped a hand around his mouth, not wishing to witness any jerky dance moves that might be linked. "America! I'm taking a shower and then we can go to Ma – I mean wherever we're going."

A muffled "'Kay, but be quick!" Floated up from somewhere downstairs.

England turned to walk back up the stairs and the picture automatically caught his eye. _…January fourth, hmm? That boy…_

England, true to his word, showered quickly and dressed. He looked at the tie wrapped around his hand for a long while. Only when America shouted up the stairs did he throw it back in his suitcase and grab his scarf instead – long and green to match his eyes, he reasoned – the same one he had worn exactly fourteen years ago… It was frayed slightly, of course, but it seemed like the right thing to bring.

He greeted America at the bottom of the stairs. He was beaming, as per usual and he held out a steaming mug of tea (England hoped it wasn't positively infused with the taste of coffee.) He accepted it and couldn't help but smile slightly at America's slightly dopey expression. _This lovely boy…_ He watched America's eyes slide from his face to his scarf, still dangling from his arm. The smile dimmed a bit an England hastily intervened any possible negative thoughts. America had obviously wanted to surprise him – best not get his hopes down.

"Where are we going America? This, I must admit, is different. You actually _are_ planning something?"

America laughed and took England reassuringly by the elbow, guiding him to the front door. He held the Nation's mug while he stooped to tie his shoelaces and shrug on his coat. England took it back and waited for America to do the same. England waited for the inevitable obstacle to occur.

"Ah, shit – where're my keeeeeys? Did you steal them?"

"Absolutely not – what would I ever want with something of yours?" England smirked and shook his head, watching America claw through his pockets with no luck. His smirk dulled into a sympathetic smile. "Maybe try the laundry room." America frowned and did so. Soon, England's ears picked up the distant cry of elation and he prepared to leave. America appeared a few seconds later and locked the door. "They were in the sink, what the heeeeck?"

"Right. Well. Are we off?"

"Yeah!"

They both opened their respective doors and sat down on the black seats – England like a normal human being and America like a 1000 kilogram acme anvil. England sighed and looked at America's mug, frowning. He supposed he could manage to be a little happier, but… As if sensing England's thoughts – before starting the car – America shifted in his seat and took England's chin in one hand. Before he could even blink, the lad had leant forward and placed his soft lips against England's own. They stayed like that for a few seconds and America eventually pulled away.

"Good morning, Arthur."

England almost laughed at the way America squirmed under his gaze. "You daft boy… Good morning to you, too."

And with that, America started the car and backed out of the driveway, taking care to miss any congealed blocks of snowstuff. He hummed genially to himself and England found that he simply could not look out the window when it was now possible to let his eyes roam freely over America's features without fear of discovery.

"So… It's kind of a long drive. I hope you don't mind, uh, it."

"Hmm. I'll survive."

"…You're too quiet, man."

"Am I?"

"…Well, _yeah_ – usually you _talk _to people when you stare at them like that."

"Am I staring? I do apologize, I wasn't aware." With this, England turned around to face the front of the vehicle; content to look at America thought the rear view mirror. He needn't know that much.

America barked out a laugh and a quiet 'yeah, right' and continued to drive – ever determined.

It was just passed Elevenses (what England wouldn't do for a scone) as America pulled off of I-95 to get some gas (Aw, man – I totally forgot to fill 'er up). England unbuckled his seatbelt and followed America out of the car to stretch his legs.

They had just entered the state of Delaware and were slated to leave it just as quickly – their stay remembered by a mere trip to a random gas station. England was more looking forward to the things to come in the next state to the west. It had been more than ten years since their last visit – an innocent visit, the times remarkably different. He shook his head, a smile playing about on his face. He could still remember the flamboyancy of America's fluorescent red, blue and black jacket – a complete mismatch to his own plain burgundy one.

He eventually wandered over to a guardrail, dividing the pebbly path that led to the gas station and a sparse, bare looking patch of woodland. His fingers tapped against the wood in an uneven rhythm and his mind was allowed to wander for the first time in a few days.

What, really had happened? What had changed so drastically?

His mind wandered back to the days, as late as a couple of months ago to as early as the eighteen hundreds – in which he was perfectly content to live alone, build an empire, free of burdens or obnoxious and clingy Nations… But was he perfectly content? He _tried _to separate himself from others – more so when he was an Empire, but now still – America had even said so earlier. He was…happier now, he could grudgingly admit to himself. Now that he had broken his routine of self-isolation, let someone else in. But America? Honestly?

England turned around and studied the lad trying to jam his credit card into the gas pump, probably swearing colourfully under his breath. Really, everything he did he somehow turned into a mess. He really wasn't the ideal Nation, nor was he kind, – well, maybe sometimes – caring, - only when it counted – helpful, – if it benefited himself, certainly -

England cut off his train of thought right then and there. Looking at America – really looking at him try to accomplish such a mundane task as paying for gas and failing so miserably was starting to convince him that, yes, America was a foolish, semi-useless, helpless, hopeless moron. But England really didn't want him any other way.

…_I want him. I truly do. Does he truly want me?_

England was shaken out of his thoughts by America straightening up and waving frantically to him, his usual, shit-eating grin plastered to his face. "Arthur, I'm done! Let's gooooo!"

England blinked. And before he could stop it, his facesoftened, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly and he hurried – eh, walked quickly – across the path and over to Alfred, opening the car door and sitting once again in the seat. Next stop: Maryland.

I I I

The black and yellow welcome sign zipped past the car window and England couldn't help but hum slightly in wonderment. America really hadn't expected him to figure out where they would be going? As if sensing England's thoughts, the younger Nation slumped slightly in his seat and glanced quickly to his right before his eyes moved towards the road.

"How long've you known?" America cut off England's answer and barged on. "Did you see the computer screen? I know you said you didn't, but I really want you to be honest with me 'cause I would hate it if it was my fault that you found out about the trip…"

England frowned and shook his head. "That again? Honestly America, I swear that I didn't see anything. I was merely looking for a highlighter."

America let out a long, audible breath and relaxed physically in his seat. The grin was returning once more to his face.

"Really? Oh, man. That's awesome! 'Cause I totally forgot to close the screen for the hotel we're going to – Oh shit. I mean… haha, um."

England, meanwhile, was halfway through the process of a massive onrush of disbelief at how easily this Nation could dig himself into a hole. "Right. Good on you for notifying me." He raised his previously bent head from the palm of his hand and regarded America's blushing face.

"Seriously, America. You needn't go through the trouble for anything fancy. Was the hotel really necessary?"

America kept his gaze on the road, his ears still a bit pink. "Well duh! I wouldn't put you though eight hours of driving in one day! That'd make you'n'me both grumpy. Plus…it's, well. I just wanna spend as much time together as we can in, um, a special way, I guess. Quality time or something sappy like that." He cleared his throat and gripped the steering wheel tightly, then sighed before continuing on. "I'm just glad that it wasn't because I made a stupid mistake that you found out about what I was planning."

England studied the Nation in front of him, his face soft, a mixture of amusement and understanding. He was neither smiling nor frowning, but the implication of happiness was certainly present on his face. He lifted a hand and brushed two fingers through America's golden hair, letting them linger alongside his cheek and his entire hand finally coming to rest on his shoulder. He squeezed it slightly, continuously – keeping the pressure steady, but not so much as to distract him from driving.

"You believe me, don't you? I did not see the screen, my dear lad and even if I had, I would not – even for a second – consider you a folly. You certainly make mistakes, Alfred, but for something as kind as this? Well. I do, that is to say… I suppose I've come to treasure your, ah, individuality. "

America let out a booming laugh and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. He let go with his left hand, keeping the wheel steady with his right and crossed his arm over his chest to cover England's smaller hand over his shoulder.

"Geez, man – I know how much you like to be poetic and crap, but I didn't think you could be so mushy! Haha, have I ever told you how weird you are?" He continued to laugh as England wrenched his hand from underneath America's and sat back in his seat, huffing and muttering something about sudden, spontaneous mood swings.

"Like you're one to talk, you fool! Here I am constantly putting up with your atrocious hamburgers and awful measuring systems – not to mention your never-changing obnoxious attitude…"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Artie."

"Arthur, if you please!"

"Sure thing, Artie!"

And as England scowled half-heartedly, America kept glancing in his direction, beaming like there would be none tomorrow.

I I I

The gear shift was thrust harshly into park, the emergency brake was stomped on and the key turned and yanked swiftly from the ignition as America let out a whoop of joy and bounded out of the car. England winced as the car door slammed and America took off, running around the vehicle to god-knows-where. He sighed delicately and undid his seatbelt, happy to be getting out of the car for an indefinite amount of time. He reached for the door handle, but before he even touched it, the door was opened for him. England looked up to see America with one arm crossed over his chest, as if mimicking some sort of butler and failing epically.

"Please, sir, after you – I insist." America's voice dropped an octave and England exited the car, bemused – unsure whether to grimace or laugh at the boy's beastly stab at a British accent. America closed the door behind him and straightened up, grinning.

"So, you ready ta go?"

England re-buttoned his coat and spared America a swift glance. "Go where, exactly?"

America shifted impatiently on both feet as he waited for England. The millisecond he had finished with his buttons, America grabbed his elbow and steered him in the direction of the park's entrance. Not before swearing and remembering to lock the car, though.

England scoffed and shook his arm free from America's overly-excited grasp. The younger Nation didn't seem to mind, and England was grateful that he refrained from making a fuss. They continued to walk in silence – away from the car and into the narrow dirt path leading into the trees. England glanced at the entrance sign to River Bend Park and smiled slightly at the sudden onrush of memories.

_They were standing side-by-side together on the empty boardwalk, leaning on the railing and looking out at the Monocacy River rushing in the distance. Silence reined for once – a nice change compared to all the bickering and pointless fighting that almost always occurred between the two of them. Sometimes, fleetingly of course, England would wish that they could move beyond the skirmishes, even beyond the silence. Something more, perhaps? And then - _

"_I'm kinda, uh, happy you're here, England. I mean, you're usually working and I don't, um, get to see you often… I. I, um. I've always liked this park and I've, um. I've always liked y- I mean, I don't even know why I'm saying this. Haha, you probably don't even care."_

England blinked and turned his head slightly – looking at America out of the corner of his eye, but making it appear as if he wasn't. He couldn't remember responding to that flabbergasting statement all those years ago due to the, well, the exceedingly flabbergasting nature of the fact that _it was said by America and it was not possible for America to be sincere to him. Ever._

Sincerity… not possible? How –

How could he have possibly been so blind?

England inhaled slightly, sharply – enough for America to shoot a worried (?) glance over his shoulder. England breathed through his nose and swallowed, wanting to speak, but unable to find the right words. Was this why they always fought so much? Simply because they couldn't find the right things to say to each other? That and the pride, of course.

Thump. Thump. Thump. England looked below to find that they had reached a wooden, light-brown boardwalk, hardly a scratch on its surface. _That_ boardwalk? It had been so long ago that he couldn't remember. Probably not. He cleared his throat, wanting more than anything to be off this boardwalk and away from memories that might awaken confusing thoughts.

"Did you have anywhere in particular that you wanted to go?"

America grinned, his hands in his pockets. "Tired already, old man?"

"I do wish you would stop calling me that," England ventured and, to his surprise, America sobered immediately. He looked as if he was about to say something, but seemed to hesitate, eventually cutting himself off with laughter. He then opened his mouth to speak anyway.

"I do have an idea of where to go, actually – c'mon."

His hands twitched in his pockets and England's heart rate spiked – thinking, hoping, thinking_ – no, definitely hoping _that America was going to take his hand. Funny, after all the things they had done, England was still taken off guard by something so small. America must have noticed England's somewhat spastic movement and looked at him questioningly before smiling hesitantly and moving to a corner of the boardwalk – off the beaten path - pushing aside some branches and holding them for England to duck under.

England did just that and stepped lightly onto a tiny trail of dirt leading down to a slope alongside the river. Clearly, others before them had done the same thing, but infrequently. He made sure of his footing and started to walk slowly down the rough, meandering mini-path. He could hear America close behind him, his breathing steady and even. England repressed a shiver that certainly had nothing whatsoever to do with America's close proximity. Which was odd, considering how very close they were just last night. What…?

The path eventually evened out and spread to meet a flat, natural trail that was parallel to both the Monocacy River and the woods surrounding them. It was quite pretty – the clear water reflecting the sunlight onto the snow and making everything sparkle. England wasn't surprised to see a fearie flit by, without a care in the world. If only he could be so fortunate.

It was then that America made a sudden exclamation, skirting around England and causing him to jump a foot into the air.

"I knew it was still here! Dude, come on!"

England shook his head and followed America, gingerly avoiding an upturned root and wondering what could have possibly excited the lad so much. He craned his neck and - oh. A bench. How wonderful. "It's a bench, my dear. Is there something particularly exciting about it?" Perhaps it has your beloved flag hidden on it somewhere?"

America threw a reproachful look over his shoulder and turned back towards England, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hey! S'not that – it's the bench – _that_ bench! Remember how the last time we were here we saw this bench and it was just in the middle of this unused forest path thing and I was like: _whaaat? _and you didn't really care, but I did 'cause it was awesome to just randomly come across a bench – like it was put there for us!"

And England did remember. He remembered appreciating for once America's ability to find such joy in the strangest things. He was beginning to get that feeling again. He looked out at the river eddying lazily about, looked out at the snow-covered trees branching out and the occasional house peeking through, looked at America grinning up at him from his position closer to the bench. England took it all in – the innocent, undisturbed, genuine beauty of it all and stretched his hand out towards America which was happily taken.

"Of course, my lovely. …Just us. Shall we sit down?"

America nodded and clasped England's hand gently, leading him towards the bench where they both sat down beside each other. The older Nation made sure to press himself close to America's side, now that they had gotten over the last few minutes of awkwardness.

"There we are. Now you most certainly can't complain that it's cold."

America responded by grinning and wrapping a steady arm around England's shoulders. "Haha, right – right. Like you're one to talk. You're more likely to complain since you're so tiny!"

England elbowed America sharply in the ribs, but was unable to escape his ever tightening hold. All he received in return was a booming laugh right next to his eardrum. "I am _not _tiny, you buffoon and I demand that you unhand me this instant."

America laughed harder and squeezed England all the closer to his side, succeeding in snuffing out all and any hope of escape. England huffed and stopped struggling, much to the delight of the obnoxious Nation beside him. They sat like that for a long while, sitting in silence and listening to the occasional laugh of a child, or the cars zooming along on the highway above them. Just like before, only so very different.

"Hey – we should graffiti up those trees, man. EA with a little heart around it. Ohmigod, that's totally like _EA games_! Awwwww, why couldn't it be AE Games instead?" America pouted and England rolled his eyes at the ridiculously random statements this boy managed to come up with.

No, I think I much prefer the 'E' first. Who knew – a video game company that has it right, for once."

England shifted in America's hold and laid a hand behind his head, pillowing it on America's collar bone, trying to soften the continued bouncing to due fresh bouts of laughter. But…What…was he thinking?

"America… Is this what you really want? Truly?"

He purposely averted his eyes from America's face – even when he felt the lad looking down at him – staring out at the river, always moving, never stopping. That is, if disaster never struck. And disasters were inevitable, in most cases. _Most cases?_

America lifted his hand from England's shoulder and moved it to his head, absently running his fingers through the messy, blond locks. England felt his stare – clearly America wasn't going to stop boring into his skull with his eyes until England looked back at him in turn. But he didn't budge. Not until America had answered.

America had stopped stroking England's hair, as if the conversation would need his entire focus. England could just imagine the lad bunching his eyebrows together and pursing his lips like some confused toddler.

"So, let me get this straight. We have spent the last week running circles around each other, embarrassing ourselves in front of a shit-ton of the other Nations – not to mention ourselves – and we've finally gotten over our stupid, stupid pride enough to actually get together and you're seriously asking me that question?"

"…Yes," England whispered, conscious of his breath visibly fogging when subjected to the cold air. He refrained from moving closer to America's body, refrained from physically wanting to be closer to him. What if – what if –

"Arthur… Listen to me, 'kay? I know how lonely it must be for you. Closing yourself off from everyone and hanging out with the fairies twenty four-seven. But'cha never complain – which is really, um, brave and/or idiotic of you – I could never do that. But…I can see it sometimes – when your loneliness shows and you're all sad 'n stuff."

He cut himself off for a second and England straightened in his hold, finally facing the younger Nation and curious as to what he would say next. America rubbed the back of his neck and laughed lightly.

"This is gonna sound weird, but I've always kinda wanted to make you feel 'not-lonely' and, and make you smile - your awesome, real smile, not your fake one – as far back as I can remember. And now that we're together, I have a proper excuse to get close enough to you to make you feel like you matter. Which you totally do. Shit – I meant reason, not excuse, haha…"

He turned his head and looked into England's eyes, his smile ever present.

"I'm a hero, right? And what kind of hero can't make the stubbornest Nation around feel wanted? But…" He lifted a hand and cupped England's cheek moving the slightest bit closer. Closer to England, England, England, only England – always England.

"But you're asking me this question with a totally obvious answer, so…um. Of course I, I want you. It's just taken me a stupidly long time to realize it. Am I, uh, not trying hard enough or something?"

England looked back at him, his face steady, and his eyes bright and – shining? Come to think of it, America was actually trying really hard not to cry as well. It was just so _frustrating _not to be able to understand these ridiculously simple things that could possibly mean life or death for their relationship. And England was so close. He could practically smell the scent of tea leaves emanating from his coat.

The English Nation opened his mouth to respond; took a shaky breath.

**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**

England closed his eyes and cursed softly, holding up a hand when America started to move in closer, trying his luck by getting England to ignore the cell phone and focus only on him. This particular harsh sounding beeping was the noise dedicated to oncoming messages from his boss. He had no choice but to take a look.

"Just a minute, lovely."

England lifted the front cover off of his phone, ignoring America's whine of protest and studied the screen. The message was short, but undeniably sweet. He scrolled though it, acutely aware of how his heart sped up at the prospects that this message entailed. America must have noticed England's smile as he closed his phone and replaced it back in his pocket. As soon as England turned back around, America was right up in his face, demanding to know what, other than himself, could have brought upon such a sudden change for the better in England's mood.

England answered by leaning up and pressing a solid kiss to America's blabbering lips, now turned suddenly still. England wasted no time with chastity or shyness, choosing instead to invade the American Nation's mouth in a thank you that words couldn't really begin to describe. Maybe it was better that way: free of words. This young man's unprepared, innocent, slightly conceited speech, really, was all he needed. A simple confirmation of his worst, best, worst – _no, best_ - hopes and wishes.

America, as easy-going as ever, was more than happy to oblige to England's kiss. A stroke of the tongue here, a lick there, or a little nip here _and_ there. Whatever he did, it had worked out, right?

England swallowed a pleasured noise from America's throat and hummed against his lips before breaking contact with his mouth and placing a butterfly-soft kiss on the tip of America's nose.

"Would you like to know what was said on the message, my dear lad?"

America nodded eagerly, pressing his pink, slightly chapped lips against England's, each corner of his mouth, his jaw line, and back to his lips…

England continued to let him do so for another minute, relishing the warm, fluttering feeling in his chest and choosing not to shirk away from it. Not this time. He smiled and closed his eyes briefly, pressing one last kiss to America's ever-willing lips and pushed himself away – now looking into America's curious, childish, wise eyes.

"Hmm. Well. Firstly, I wish to thank you for what you just said, Alfred. It was, well, certainly touching in a way that could only be described as 'you.' It was exactly what I needed in my moment of…uncertainly, shall we say. If it, em, makes any difference…I am of the same mind; you have been able to show me, my lad that one does need someone to make them feel wanted – not any easy feat to accomplish, I assure you."

England smiled up at America and could tell that he was torn between a fresh round of physical contact and actually finding out what was in the message. He lifted a hand and straightened America's glasses, fixed his rumpled jacket – anything for him to be able to keep touching this lovely Nation in front of him.

"Secondly, I know it's become fairly hard for us to find much surprising these days, but I feel as if this will make you happy. Our bosses have been discussing the location for the next meeting and with the snow clearing up so nicely… They've decided to hold it in London."

America gaped, eyes wide and jaw slack. Then –

"Ohmigod, YES!" His arms shot up - outstretched to the sky and he tipped his head back, laughing his usual, booming laugh. They then shot back down and enveloped England in a bone-crushing hug of epic-proportions, leaving the smaller Nation wheezing whilst the American continued to talk at a mile a minute.

"Duuuuude! We can hang out and play video games – even though you probs don't have video games, but that's okay 'cause I can bring 'em – and you can take me to see places 'cause I haven't been there in a super, super long time and ohhhhh maaaaan, it's gonna be so much fun! Just you 'n me, baby."

He unraveled his arms just to place a sloppy smooch on England's smiling lips, which England happily returned despite the aforementioned 'highlights' of the upcoming trip. It was…sort of nice to be able to experience this happiness around one such as America. …Sublime, even.

Once again, England pushed America away, but this time a lot more half-heartedly. He huffed, crossed his arms, and pretended to be irritated with the lad's behaviour.

"So whatever happened to your blatant refusal to visit my country? Gone with the wind, eh?"

America responded by poking him on the arm. "Haha, you're funny. I was just stupid back then – I thought we'd already figured that."

"Oh, and 'back then' being two weeks ago doesn't matter, hmm?"

"Pshhh, no way!"

England studied America's face – full of joy and, and definitely sincerity. His smiled disappeared, not a facial feature that tended to stay for an extended period of time. But he hoped that America would be able to see how grateful, how touched, how warmed he was feeling at this particular moment. He squeezed in one more kiss, determined to have the last action and settled in close to America's side once again. He heard the lad coo happily and could almost feel the energy from his smile radiate off of him.

The river rolled and ran. The couple continued to cuddle. The snow still sparkled.

America 'heh'd' under his breath and pressed his cheek against the crown of England's head.

"Y'know… You're pretty awesome. But only our awesomeness together cancels out all the invisible unicorns and shit."

_- Fin_

_AN - Holy Roman Empire... It's done. I have officially eaten my words about wanting to be as close to reality's timeline as possible. They were not tasty, I'll have you know. So there I was...writin' away, 1000 words or so completed, being all happy and such - and then! ISU SEASON STRUCK! I literally went from writing a paragraph a day or nothing at all because it was either work, or sleep. AND! The school play kept me after school all day for a week. I'm glad I survived. :P I also think my French teacher enjoys watching us struggle through the mountains of work he dumps on us. ANYWAY! I hope you can forgive me and I hope this chapter satisfied your USUK/UKUS cravings, you wild fans, you. :) I suppose I'll have to write a one shot or something about America and England's adventures in Britain._

_River Bend Park = I don't even know. :D I spent, like, 10 mins looking at parks in Maryland. I remember my friend going to Maryland once about 6 years ago and saying it was nice. That's actually the only reason I picked this state, haha! Hmmm, anything else? Oh, yeah. England was right. We have a shit ton of snow. Ohhhh my. It's really awesome. But annoying at the same time. Finally - Goooooogle .ca - It always does that for me, despite it being American? Maybe Matthew ninja'd his way in there and swapped America's computer with one of his own. P.P.S. I do not own Hetalia nor EA Games. So's you know._

_ANYWAY! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STAYING WITH ME AND REVIEWING! IT MEANS SO MUCH - THANK YOU TO YOU ALL! I LOVE YOU!_

_~WhiteWinters _


End file.
